When The Devil Can't Save Himself
by dazzledeyes
Summary: Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying. SPOILERS. Chuck-centric CB.
1. Prologue

**Title: **When The Devil Can't Save Himself

**Word Count: **n/a yet

**Rating: **PG-13, maybe R at one point

**Warnings/Spoilers: **All of season 1, aired season 2 and spoilers for 2.10 and 2.12 through 2.14.

**Summary: **Bart Bass. Shot. Dead. Murdered. Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying.

**Official Disclaimer: **All _Gossip Girl _plots and characters belong to Cecily von Ziegesar, Josh Schwartz and the CW. I do not own the company or the people. The characters in this story are not mine.

**Author's Note: **I lied. I said my next fanfic would be Blair-centric, but then I got some new spoilers that really inspired me to write this instead. It was going to be left as a oneshot, but I am actually dying to continue it, so if I get enough reviews, I will. This story is going to be darker than anything I've ever written, so I'm not sure how good it's going to be. But I'm really going to try to make everyone as in-character as possible. Thanks so much for reading. It means a lot!

* * *

She watched him.

Standing in the doorway of Palace Hotel room 1812, her eyes watered at the sight before her. He was slumped on a stool at the bar, his eyes almost drilling a hole into the dark wood countertop. A bottle of scotch sat in front of him and one lingered on the floor, almost empty but still spilling a tiny pool of amber liquid onto the thick white carpet. His glass was cradled in his palm, half full, and as he tipped it back, she saw that his hands were shaking.

He didn't see her.

He was empty inside. All he felt was the pounding of his heart, the burning of the alcohol sliding down his throat. But he didn't want to feel anything anymore. He would drink until he couldn't see straight and the room would spin. He would drink until his eyes glazed over and his body was warm. He would drink until he passed out, overcome by the blackness that filled him. He would drink until he was put out of his misery for as long as possible.

She still watched him.

He looked like he was living in slow motion, his movements sluggish and slow. His red-rimmed eyes burned with anger and his shoulders were hunched, as if he didn't want anyone to see his face. As if he thought no one wanted to.

He still didn't see her.

Tipping back his glass again, his eyes fogged over. He could barely make out the outline of the bottle in front of him. Good. That was exactly how he wanted it. He dumped the rest of the contents of the bottle in the tiny glass in his hands and poured it down his throat, trying to erase the pain.

_Shot. Dead. Murdered._

The sound of Lily's screams echoed in his mind and he swigged back his scotch until the wailing was replaced by a low buzz. He saw the shocked tears streaming down her cheeks, her makeup streaking her face. Her blue dress and black coat and wet eyes. He took another long drink.

_In critical condition._

He saw Eric's and Serena's faces floating before him, looking at him with pity. Serena had wrapped her arms around him, expecting emotion. Chuck Bass didn't do emotion. He stood as cold and unmoving as before as her long, pale arms slid around his shoulders and then off, leaving him stock still and all alone.

_Pronounced dead at 9:17 PM._

Blair had texted him thirty times. She had called twenty. He had heard her voice out in the hallway with Serena; worried, scared. They had knocked on the door over and over, fist on wood, metal, banging. His head had pounded.

_Bart Bass._

She moved closer to him.

He turned toward her with disheveled hair and blurry eyes and she felt a tug at her heart as she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, pulling him close to her, pressing her head of smooth, dark curls into the stiff dress shirt covering his chest. His shoulders began to shake as he cried without tears, sobbed without a sound and yelled without words.

She felt him pull away from her grip and she turned to take him into her arms again, but instead she saw him pick up his scotch, watching the sparkling liquid twirl in circles in the cup and then knocking back the entire glass. The stinging alcohol fell into his mouth, chilling him until he couldn't feel his hands or feet. He was numb.

In a daze, he stared down at the glass and then up at the polished mirror across from him. Suddenly, with all of his strength, he whipped that glass at the mirror, channeling all of his anger into one wild shot. It broke into a million pieces that flew across the room, catching the light as they hit on the counters, the floor, the bed.

And when that mirror shattered, his heart shattered with it. Because Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty damn sure he couldn't be fixed this time.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Please, please, please review and tell me what you think! If I get enough reviews, I'll have the first chapter up in a few days. Thank you!


	2. Clouds of Drunken Mourning

**Title: **When The Devil Can't Save Himself

**Word Count: **n/a yet

**Rating: **PG-13, maybe R at one point

**Warnings/Spoilers: **All of season 1, aired season 2 and spoilers for 2.10 and 2.12 through 2.14.

**Summary: **Bart Bass. Shot. Dead. Murdered. Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying.

**Official Disclaimer: **All _Gossip Girl _plots and characters belong to Cecily von Ziegesar, Josh Schwartz and the CW. I do not own the company or the people. The characters in this story are not mine.

**Author's Note: **Here's the first chapter! Thank you guys so much for your feedback and for encouraging me to continue this. I hope this chapter lives up to the prologue. Right now I'm just trying to build the story; the real drama is coming later. And one more thing, you're going to notice in this story that, as it progresses, Chuck is going to seem colder and meaner, and Blair is going to be more selfless and helpful. It might be a bit OOC for her, but again, this story is based on just a few spoiler pictures, a video and a couple of sides for 2.14. It's hard to tell from those how the actual plot will turn out.

* * *

The day of the funeral was appropriate for the occasion. The sky was a gloomy gray, clouds hanging low over New York's skyscrapers. It had been raining on and off all morning, rain drops splattering against windows and dampening the ground like tears.

Blair tucked another piece of long, smooth dark hair behind one of her trademark headbands and stared into the mirror. She couldn't bring herself to smile at her perfectly made-up reflection, or even make any sort of facial expression at all. She felt empty inside, drained of energy that she hadn't known she'd had in the first place.

It wasn't the fact that Bart Bass was dead. She knew she shouldn't say so, shouldn't even think it, considering the circumstances, but she couldn't care less about Bart Bass. His alternating between constant cruelty and indifference to Chuck had deemed him bad in Blair's mind. No, it was the fact that Chuck was no longer Chuck. He was small and lost and drunk or high all day and night. He didn't ooze the same sensual appeal as he always had, his clothes were rumpled and his eyes were bleary, no longer sparkling with that same perverted glint as they used to.

She hadn't seen much of him since the night she'd found him in 1812. All she'd heard was news from Serena and Eric; Chuck passed out here, there, upstairs. Lily didn't seem to notice that Chuck always stumbled into the penthouse at an ungodly hour, if he even came home at all.

Blair had called him every day, letting the phone ring in her ear until she hit his voicemail. "Leave a message and I _might _listen to it." His voice seemed so carefree, like he'd had the world in his reach. Maybe he had. But that Chuck was gone, replaced by someone vulnerable and alone, someone that covered up emotions with a swig of scotch. Someone that needed saving, someone that needed _her _to save them.

Things had been perfect for a little while…or as perfect as they could be with Chuck Bass for a boyfriend. _Boyfriend_. When they'd run into each other at the Snowflake Ball a few weeks ago, they'd shared some banter and a drink before ending up on the dance floor. She was cradled in his arms; their hands linked, his palm spread on the small of her back. They'd touched each other gently; carefully…electricity running through their fingertips as they'd stared into each other's eyes.

Soon, his soft pink lips had been inches from hers and she had been ready to give into his touch and kiss him, just softly. A friendly kiss. But then he'd whispered, "Blair, I'm tired of waiting. I can't stay away from you," and she'd melted at the warmth in his eyes as their lips touched in a flurry of romance and passion. Before she knew it, he'd had her pressed against a wall in the dimly lit hallway to the ballroom and he was kissing her all over.

"I'll take you to the movies, I'll hold your hand…" Her body had grown hotter as his kisses grew messier, trailing down her cheek to her ears, her neck, her collarbone. "I'll do anything for you, Blair." They were pressed so close together, she could feel his heart beating. "I…need…you…." Kiss after kiss after kiss. She'd only moaned against his lips. Who needed "I love you" when they had this?

Blair shook herself away from the memory. What had happened in the past was in the past. She loved Chuck and all she wanted for him was his happiness. She wished she could give that to him.

She remembered holding him next to the bar in his suite a few nights ago, feeling his body tremble underneath her fingertips. She had stayed with him all night; calming him down. She'd seen his eyes well up with tears every once in a while, but he never let a single one escape. He hadn't spoken much, either. A simple "I'm sorry," when he'd seen how late it was and how she wasn't leaving, a pained noise when they'd turned on the TV to find that Bart's death was the main news on all the local channels. Blair wished she could do more to help him, but a boy, no matter how tough, needed his father, and she certainly wasn't that.

"Blair!" Her bedroom door banged open and her best friend rushed in, a flurry of blonde hair, coat unbuttoned and dress flowing against black tights. "Hurry up!"

"Patience is a virtue, Serena. Just because it's a day of mourning doesn't mean I don't need to look presentable." Blair tugged her fingers through her straightened hair again, giving her outfit a long once-over. Her blue sweater complimented her black dress and her black knit tights made her legs look longer…she was distracting herself, she knew. She knew outfits didn't matter today.

"Sure, patience is all well and good, but not when my brother is missing!" Serena frantically ran a hand through her hair, messing it up even more.

"Brother? Eric?" Blair turned away from the mirror and reached over to open a drawer. She pulled out a pair of long, black gloves and slid them on. It was cold out, wasn't it? She could practically hear the wind howling. The sound was eerie and fitting. She hated funerals. Who liked them?

"No, step-brother…whatever! Chuck! Your boyfriend!" Serena's sentences got more and more jumbled, but Blair got the jist of what she was saying. Chuck…missing…her blood ran cold. "He didn't come home last night, and no one's been able to reach him."

"Oh, god." Blair didn't give a second glance to her reflection as she streaked out the door past Serena, running on the toes of her black heels. Who knew what Chuck could have done to himself this time?

* * *

Blair and Serena were breathless and panting. They'd been dashing all over the city for an hour, running from bar to bar to hotel to restaurant. Chuck wasn't in any of them. It was almost as if he'd just disappeared.

"What now?" Serena looked down at Blair. "I can't think of anywhere else to go." She sighed tiredly. "Maybe we should just go back to the Palace. We probably just crossed paths or something."

"Oh, aren't you the optimist." Blair shook her head. "I'm not stopping, Serena. I'm going to find him."

Serena let a small smile play at her lips. "Blair, this is totally normal for him. He's been like this all week. He'll be fine. He'll make it home, he'll get to the funeral eventually."

Blair had stopped listening to Serena minutes ago. "Wait a second…" She thought back to about two months ago, the deal she'd made with Chuck. How he'd gently kissed her cheek to seal it for the first time, untied her robe to seal it for the second. How she'd found him in one of the back rooms of the van der Bass penthouse, staring into Vanessa's eyes. The whole thing about that bar in Brooklyn…Chuck loved that place. He desperately wanted to buy it, to have something to call his own. She'd ruined that. Blair felt a twinge of guilt, but the panging in her heart was overshadowed by the relief that flooded her when her realization came. "I know where he is."

* * *

Blair's assumption had been dead-on. They stared through the dirty windows at the long table inside the Brooklyn Inn. Chuck was slouched on a barstool, head resting in his crossed arms. There was an empty bottle of scotch next to him, an empty glass. _He _looked empty, sitting there all alone amongst the colorful glass bottles and dark wood décor.

Blair strode purposefully to the door, shoving it with both gloved hands. It just rattled in its frame and didn't move. She knocked against the door with a sturdy fist, hoping to alert some kind of employee or even wake up Chuck in the process, but no one came.

After a few more knocks, Serena joined in until they were both pounding on the doors, their heads jolting back and forth with each hit. Finally, a man swung the doors open and eyed them. "You here for him?"

Blair nodded, pushing past the man and stepping inside. "How long has he been here?" she asked, looking at Chuck's figure, his head leaning onto the tabletop a few feet away. She walked softly towards him, her heels clacking against the wood-paneled floor.

"Since last night." The man shrugged his broad shoulders. "I figure I would let him be. He seemed pretty out of it."

Blair bit her lip as Serena stood quietly behind her. She leaned over Chuck and gently touched his shoulder, shaking him. "Chuck, wake up. Wake up."

* * *

Chuck was sure he was dead, or at least halfway there. The blinding pain in his head, the blinding lights burning into his eyes, the blinding noise of someone's voice echoing somewhere far, far above him. He tried to blink, but his eyelids felt too heavy to open. The feeling of someone shaking him felt like it was rattling every bone in his body.

"Mmmffgg." A muffled groan was the only sound he could seem to make, until he felt a soft hand lift his chin, pulling his head up. Skin on skin, flushing his exhausted body with warmth. He would know that touch anywhere.

With much effort, Chuck opened his eyelids. The room was hazy and unfocused, the mild light coming through the windows too much for him to view through the tired, filmy blur that covered his dark eyes. It seemed as if he'd finally succeeded in drinking himself into a trance. The longer he could stay like this, the easier it would be to keep going. To forget.

"Chuck?" Blair's angelic face came into his line of vision, worry clouding her glittering eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Okay? No, I'm not okay. How could I be fucking okay?" Chuck balled his hands into fists and rubbed at his eyes furiously. Reality was slowly coming back to him, the spurts of realization making his body cold with sadness and fear. "It's the day of my own father's fucking _funeral_. How could I be okay?" Chuck had to swallow hard. His entire body was shaking again, his thoughts jumbled messily in his head.

Suddenly, Blair's arms were enveloping him, the feeling of her body his only source of comfort. He hated feeling this way. He hated this sympathy. He was Chuck Bass. He didn't need anyone.

_To be continued._

* * *

**Author's Note:** Again, thank you for reading and thanks for everyone for reviewing on the last chapter. That includes: princetongirl, , 2ndstar2daRight2, liveontheedge, xcrazyangelx1800, TheMusicLives, Princess Persephone, fizliz23 and unefeeallumee. Special thanks to Beth (TheMusicLives) for telling me about the problem with my summary :) Please keep on reviewing and telling me what you think!


	3. Funerals and Fistfights

**Title: **When The Devil Can't Save Himself

**Word Count: **n/a yet

**Rating: **PG-13, maybe R at one point

**Warnings/Spoilers: **All of season 1, aired season 2 and spoilers for 2.12 through 2.14

**Summary: **Bart Bass. Shot. Dead. Murdered. Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying.

**Official Disclaimer: **All _Gossip Girl _plots and characters belong to Cecily von Ziegeser, Josh Schwartz and the CW. I do not own the company or the people. The characters in this story are not mine.

**Author's Note: **This chapter was way longer than I thought it was going to be. I thought about splitting it into two parts, but then it would be too short, and...ugh. This took me forever to write, because I wanted it to be as good as the first two parts. A lot of real drama is going on in this chapter, while last chapter was a buildup. A warning: the language does get a bit strong near the middle. I apologize :)

**NOTE: In this story, Dan does write the exposé on Bart. It does not effect the rest of the family, but it causes a lot of anger to be directed at Bart, which is why he is shot by someone (no, you won't ever find out who it was. I don't even know myself). Bart and Chuck end up bonding anyway and their scene at the end of 2.10 does happen.**

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* * *

**

Within a half an hour, Blair and Serena had managed to get a half-conscious Chuck back to the penthouse, into a suit and tie and out the door into his limo. They flew down the streets of New York City, the lights of cars flashing against the glass buildings and the foggy sky as they made their way to the cemetery.

Blair turned slightly in her seat to look at Chuck, who was slumped next to her, his drooping head barely touching her shoulder. He was a faded pale white color and his skin was cold, his closed eyes letting his soft brown lashes touch his alabaster cheeks. Normally when Chuck slept, he looked peaceful and at ease. Now he twitched fitfully against Blair's side, flopping back and forth on the leather seats.

Serena stared at Chuck, whose antics were now turned in her direction. "Is he okay?"

Blair looped an arm around Chuck's broad shoulders, tugging him back over to her. She let his head lean on her, his soft hair brushing her cheek, and gently rubbed his shoulder with her free hand. The gesture seemed to calm him long enough to stop him from kicking at Serena's legs and start to breathe slow, calm breaths.

She leaned back against the smooth black leather and watched the boy next to her. His chest rose and fell under his black dress shirt and his face looked so tired and broken and innocent. It was surprising how a tragedy could turn one of Manhattan's most infamous into a vulnerable little boy again.

* * *

Chuck was awoken by someone shaking him for the second time that day. He opened his eyes, groggy and caked with sleep, and blinked until the world was in focus. He almost smiled peacefully at the feeling of Blair gently stroking his hair, until he remembered where he was.

The sleek black limo was parked at the entrance to the cemetery where the second part of the ceremony would be held. Stocky gray gravestones stood like guards along the winding pathway that led up and down steep, hilly ground and the grass was dry and greenish-brown, covered in leaves that cracked against their feet as he, Blair and Serena made their way up to join the rest of the funeral party.

As soon as Chuck saw the congregation of people, all dressed in various shades of black, gray and deep blue, his eyes began to water. He wasn't sure if it was from the fierce wind that whipped against their faces or the salty tears that threatened to spill over.

Blair tightened her grip on his black-jacket-clothed arm, as if thinking he would turn and run. But instead Chuck's tired eyes flitted over the crowd with incredible precision, praying he wouldn't be able to single out the one person responsible for this mess. Chuck immediately spotted Serena's new boy toy Aaron Rose, standing next to Vanessa and…

_Dan Humphrey._

God damn fucking Dan Humphrey was here. How could he even think of coming here to pretend he cared about them and about their family, when all he'd really done was tear them apart? How could he even think of mourning amongst these people who _actually _cared? How could he even _stand _there, pretending that fucking article _he _fucking wrote wasn't responsible for the death of the only parent Chuck had ever known?

Fuck it. He wished Dan Humphrey was the one killed instead.

Trying to control his rage and the surge of other emotions that bubbled to the surface, Chuck stared back at the crowd that surrounded Bart's grave and Lily, his newly widowed wife. Looking at the inscription, reading his name, made Chuck's stomach churn and his hungover head pound. His legs gave out and he sank to the ground, falling onto the path with a thud. Chuck hardly felt his back and elbows hit the ground, he was too concentrated on the searing pain that overtook his whole body. So this was what grief felt like.

Chuck opened his eyes, reluctant to let in a speck of light, and saw Blair kneeling next to him, the knees of her black tights scratching against the ground. Eric van der Woodsen was next to her, along with Serena and Nate. Nate, who hadn't spoken to him for weeks, had apparently decided to give him sympathy along with the rest of them. He didn't want sympathy, damn it. He just wanted his father back.

Nate reached out a hand to help Chuck, but he waved it off, leaning his head back against the pavement. The pounding pain that drilled against his skull worsened as he did so and he struggled to sit up, attempting to glare coldly at the people that had crowded, but he felt too empty inside to do much of anything besides stare.

Blair reached down her hand this time, covered in a long, soft black glove. Chuck obliged, letting her wrap her tiny, warm hand around his larger, freezing one and pull him to his feet.

"Come with me, Chuck." Blair linked her arm through his and he felt himself relax just at being near her. He forced himself to stiffen and angle his body away. It was wrong to feel this _right _near someone. He couldn't handle the complicated feelings that flew through him whenever Blair was near. Not now and probably not ever.

* * *

She was worried. She couldn't deny it. The sick look on his face, the clench in his jaw, his tense and hesitant touches…they just weren't like him.

"How are you doing?" Blair asked, speed walking to keep time with Chuck's desperate pace.

"How do you think I'm doing?" Chuck was basically unresponsive. He wouldn't meet her eyes, didn't react to the way her hand was curled around his arm.

"I don't know, Chuck." Blair sighed, knowing she couldn't be frustrated with him but wishing he would open up to her, just this once. "You've got to give me something here."

"Maybe I don't want to talk, all right?" Chuck's words were cold and rough and he began to walk faster, all but shoving her away from him. He wrenched his arm out of her grip and turned on his heels, his dress shoes scuffing against the stone walkway as he strode back to the group.

Blair gaped at the spot where Chuck had stood, even long after he left, suddenly realizing to some extent how completely broken he actually was.

He'd never let her see it before, so she'd never really known. Right as they'd walked out of the Snowflake Ball, they were holding hands, intent on heading into the limo and making up for lost time. Instead, he'd gotten the call from Lily (_"Chuck, your father…accident…hospital…gone") _and she had watched his face sink from a smirk to utterly devastated. There had been no tears, no indication of how hurt he was other than the look in his eyes and the smack of the limo door slamming inches from her face as he dove inside, speeding to what was left of his family.

She wished she could fix him. She _wanted _to fix him. But there is a kind of pain that can't be fixed only with a gentle word or a calming touch, and this was it.

* * *

Chuck's head spun and his eyes blinked quickly from side to side, their inspection moving from one edge of the crowd to the other. He saw Eric and his boyfriend, looking appropriately somber in what seemed to be matching black coats, Nate speaking with Serena, their blond hair less shiny and illuminant against the cloudy sky, and…Blair, standing at the edge of a hill, her polished black flats perched on the grass, watching him.

He knew it had been wrong to run from her, especially when she was the only thing keeping him sane. But he didn't want to be treated like some crazy mental patient that could break down at any second. He suddenly understood why Eric had felt like he needed to take risks when he'd gotten out of the Ostroff Center. People were so scared of him not being able to handle real life that he felt like he needed to prove that he _could_.

Chuck Bass would prove himself too. Chuck Bass would take risks. Chuck didn't need Blair Waldorf.

He spotted Dan out of the corner of his eye. He was paying condolences to Lily, talking animatedly and still managing to look innocent and regretful. Just from watching him, Chuck's entire being was filled with red-hot anger, running through his veins and pounding into his heart. Without thinking, he sent a glare that would make anyone's blood run cold in Humphrey's direction. He waited for Lily to be gone and as the area around Dan filled with his friends and stepfamily, Chuck made his move.

"What the _fuck_, Humphrey?" Chuck charged up to him, shoving his almost numb hands against Dan's shoulders. Dan skidded back, his dress shoes catching on the cracks between the stones on the pathway.

"Whoa, what the…" Dan stared at Chuck as if he was possessed. To hell with that! Maybe he was!

"You can _not _just show _up _here!" Chuck shoved him again and then got right up in his face. "_You _are the fucking cause of all of this, Humphrey! You're _trash_! Our family doesn't want you anywhere near us!"

"Hey." Dan put up a hand, pushing it into Chuck's chest. Chuck didn't move, just clenched his fists and seethed, continuing to glare in his direction. "Mrs., er, Bass seemed fine with having me here. She _thanked _me for coming."

Chuck hated Dan for how ridiculously logical he was being. Couldn't he just shove Chuck back, make this into a fight? He didn't want to think about anything, just how good it would feel to have his fist connect with Dan Humphrey's self-righteous, Brooklyn-dwelling, sharp-cheekboned, fake-innocent face. In fact, why just think about it?

Chuck raised his fist with every intention of knocking Dan onto his ass, but before he got the chance, Serena jumped it, tugging Dan away from Chuck's line of fire.

"What the hell?" Chuck's voice seemed to echo. A moment ago, everything had been loud, the scurrying of footsteps, his and Dan's shouts. Now it seemed empty.

"Don't touch him, Chuck." Serena looked at Chuck apprehensively, looking partly scared of his rage and partly defensive.

"Oh, apparently I haven't gotten the bulletin. You and Brooklyn are back on?" Chuck sneered, his thoughts twisted. "Get out of my way." He shook Dan free from Serena's grasp and, without any warning, slammed him square in the jaw. His head whipped around and his body thumped onto the ground. There was a collective gasp and Chuck's hand stung, knuckles bruising and cold.

Serena was advancing on him now and Chuck ducked out of the way, turning with a crazy impulse and running up the hill. The grass and colorful fall leaves crunched under his shoes as he ran, refusing to think about what had just happened, how enormously angry he was at everyone, _everyone _in the world and how jumbled his thoughts were, so jumbled that he couldn't feel anything.

Instead he focused on the wind that was sweeping his hair crazily and chilling his body and now the sound of two people running behind him.

* * *

"Chuck!" Blair dashed after him as best as she could, Nate close behind. She was really, honestly wondering if Chuck had lost his mind. She'd never seen him act like this before. Normally, he was suave, under control. He was poised and articulate. Never, ever this bundle of reckless emotion.

They caught up to Chuck and each grabbed one of his arms, but he struggled away, panting heavily. His skin had a greenish tint and he looked like he was about to be sick, but instead he turned towards them.

"I don't _need _your sympathy," he spat, turning and beginning to run again, down a hill and out of sight.

Nate and Blair turned to look at each other, worry in their eyes, because apparently a grieving Chuck Bass was more dangerous to himself than they'd thought.

* * *

She met him outside his building about an hour later, after speaking with Lily (it would have been rude not to) and directing her driver to the van der Bass penthouse.

He was standing by his limo, still wearing the same pinstriped pants, black shirt, gray tie, black coat. His hair was messy and hanging in his tired eyes. He was violently tossing bags into the trunk of the limo as the driver stood by, watching with a concerned air.

Blair stood and watched him for a few minutes, noticing how, though he threw the bags with force, the rest of his body seemed exhausted and lethargic. His mouth was set in a thin line and his shoulders were slumped like he had nothing to live for.

She suddenly got what was going on. The bags, the limo, the…_wait_. Chuck stared down at something in his hand: a small, white piece of paper. Was that a plane ticket?

Chuck's hand locked around the door handle, pulling it open. He raised a foot to step inside, and Blair couldn't wait any longer.

"Chuck! Don't go!" She ran up to him for the second time that day, tears coming to her eyes at the thought of him sitting on a plane all alone, heading to some exotic location where he would sit and drink in his suite all day and go out and drink all night. He needed to stay here, where people loved him. He needed to understand that people really would use those three words, eight letters and direct them towards him. He needed them even more now than ever.

Chuck turned slowly towards her, the coldness in his eyes frightening her. "Why? It's not like I have anyone here anymore."

The words stung Blair and she opened her mouth to reply, but he silenced her with the hard look in his normally playful dark eyes. "I don't have anyone here anymore," he repeated, sounding like a broken record.

"You have me, Chuck." Blair could hardly resist tugging him to her and pressing her head into his chest. She reached for his hand, barely touching his ice cold fingertips before he pulled away.

"Not anymore." Chuck squared his jaw and looked straight into her wet eyes. "I don't want you near me, Blair. I need to be alone."

"But…" Blair reached out for him again, praying he would oblige. But he pushed her hand away, turning towards the limo door.

"Stay away from me." Chuck slid into the limo and shut the door forcefully. It sped away from the curb, pulling out into the mix of lights and bustle of sounds that was New York. He was heading God-knows-where to do God-know-what with God-knows-who, and the only thing she was worried about was him.

_To be continued._

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**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading. I hope I'm living up to expectations on this story. *crosses fingers* And thanks to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter. That includes unefeeallumee, nicolexox123, princetongirl, Princess Persephone, fizliz23, suspensegirl, TheCutie, MamaFu and xcrazyangelx1800. Please keep on reading and reviewing. Tell me especially what you like/don't like about my writing. I appreciate it. Thanks for your support, guys. It means a lot. :)


	4. Arrogance Runs in the Family

**Title: **When The Devil Can't Save Himself

**Word Count: **n/a yet

**Rating: **PG-13, maybe R at one point

**Summary: **Bart Bass. Shot. Dead. Murdered. Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying.

**Official Disclaimer: **All _Gossip Girl _plots and characters belong to Cecily von Ziegeser, Josh Schwartz and the CW. I do not own the company or the people. The characters featured in this story are not mine.

**Author's Note: **Chapter three! Hooray! I'm sorry it took so long to get out, but I've been really busy this past week. About this chapter...well...Jack Bass makes an appearance. If you haven't seen the pictures of the guy that plays him, you really should check them out, because he _does _have a scary resemblance to Bart. Anyway, hardly any Chuck POV this chapter. :( I know this is supposed to be a Chuck-centric story and the _plot _is, but the narrative parts just aren't turning out that way. I promise a lot more Chuck in future chapters though. Sorry if this chapter seems kind of rushed. I tried my best, but like I said, I've been crazy busy lately. Thank god there have been filming pictures and sides to give me inspiration. :D Oh, and most of the Blair/Jack dialogue in this chapter is taken from 2.14 sides. The rest of it are my original ideas. Anyway, I'll let you read now. I hope this chapter gets as good of a response as 'Funerals and Fistfights' did. Not as much drama...more of a filler...I'm rambling.

* * *

Time passed, and soon Blair had gone two weeks without seeing or hearing from Chuck. Her phone sat unmoving on her beside table all night and was cradled in her palm all day as she glanced down every five minutes, praying she would get a call that would at least tell her that he was okay.

But no call came. The screen remained blank, a sharp image of her and Chuck (pre-Tuscany-disaster, pre-Vanessa-disaster, pre-Bart-disaster), his scarf draped around both of their necks, their matching heads of dark hair pressed together; serving as her background. Everything was so simple then. So easy.

Chuck had been there, always, since they were little. He'd never disappeared without calling or communicating with anyone, even through a voicemail or a text message sent from Monaco or LA, where he would be covered head-to-toe in models and having the time of his life. But with no recognition that he was even _alive_, it scared her half to death to know that he could be anywhere right then. He didn't have anyone to look after him, show concern that he'd missed weeks of school and that his empty room was now covered in cracked bottles of scotch and broken glasses. It smelled like a mixture of alcohol, cologne, sweat and marijuana; a smell that was one hundred percent Chuck, but so strong that it was almost pungent. Blair couldn't stand looking in there, thinking about what used to be.

Blair had spoken with Serena about how afraid she was, but Serena had brushed her off. She was still annoyed with Chuck about him knocking Dan out at the funeral, and she showed it with every piercing gaze that she sent Blair's way. It was clear that Serena didn't understand why she was still involved with him, much less _worried _about him.

Lily hadn't ventured out much since Bart's death either. All Blair had seen of her was in the van der Bass (or was it just van der Woodsen now?) penthouse and it was often when she was dressed casually and wearing large sunglasses that covered what were sure to be thickly red-rimmed eyes. It was partly guilt, Blair assumed, that caused her to hide herself away. When Bart had been shot, Lily had been at the Snowflake Ball in a gorgeous white gown, clinging to the arms of her apparent lover, Dan and Jenny's father, Rufus. Blair felt a twinge of sympathy for the perpetually stoic, unemotional Bart and the awful way it would feel to know that your wife was in love with another man.

The only person that had really paid much attention to Blair the past few weeks (besides her minions at school; they still followed her around in their identical headbands, perching at her feet for lunch on the steps and following her lead in the hallways, despite her darting glances up and down her insistent route through the boy's hall) was Eric. He also missed Chuck crazily; he had left when they had just begun to get closer. Eric was the brother Chuck never had, and although Chuck would usually eagerly pick up a call from Eric, he hadn't been able to reach him either.

Blair missed him. Every last bit of him. His possessive smirk, his crazy patterned suits, the way his eyes went from a piercing deep black to a cloudy caramel color when she would lie on top of him and he would look at her between hungry kisses. She even missed the cold, angry Chuck from the funeral, with the sunken eyes and the pale cheeks, clenching his jaw to keep a mixture of wildly angry tears of frustration and horribly broken tears of grief from streaming down his face.

She would give anything to hold him, to have him back next to her. Every minute felt like hours, every hour felt like days. Each week dragged on until she was sure it had been years and she couldn't even look at herself without seeing him. She was absent-minded, distracted in school. Her hair was a mess. All she could think of was how amazing it would feel to have him back in her arms, to have the power to help him, to change something.

After a particularly extended and therefore dreadful day, Blair's inner schemer kicked in. But what she was about to do wasn't exactly up to her usual standards. Nothing had been lately. After a couple hours of sitting on her bed, staring out the window at the New York skyline, Blair only came to the conclusion that she had to talk to Lily and figure out where the _hell _Chuck was and how the _hell _she was supposed to get him home, where he belonged.

* * *

"For the last time, Blair, I don't know where he is!" Lily rubbed her temples, her eyes shaded over with the thick black glasses once again. Blair had managed to get her out to brunch and into a nondescript looking pink dress. It was the first time in weeks she'd left the penthouse. Lily's hair was as butter-blond and glossy as always, but her arms and legs looked thin and pale, leading Blair to think that she was taking this harshly as well.

Blair leaned over the table, smiling sweetly at the mother of her best friend. Her straightened hair was tucked beneath a blue silk headband and her makeup was pristine, but her heart didn't feel nearly as orderly as her appearance seemed to suggest. "Well, then do you know of anyone that might?

Lily pressed her carefully painted lips together and shook her head, waves of perfect blond hair swinging back and forth. "I don't…"

Blair sighed and leaned back in her chair, adjusting her blue cardigan and playing with the remaining food on her plate, twirling her silver fork in her hand. This was great. Just fucking great. What if she never found him? "Well, all right, thank you, Lily. I'll just be going now." Blair lifted her coat and bag from the floor and turned towards large glass doors that signaled the exit.

"Wait!" Lily waved a hand for Blair to come back to the table and she obliged, shrugging off her jacket and sitting down again. "I remember he has an uncle that lives somewhere upstate. Bart's brother…Jack, I think it might be. According to Bart, Chuck has always enjoyed time with him. Maybe I could track down his number for you."

Blair's body surged with relief and anticipation. "Yes!" she practically shouted. "Thank you so much."

She needed Chuck and Chuck needed her much, much more. The thought of being able to see him, to hold him, even to talk to him after two weeks of complete silence created a rush of emotions through her.

She missed him. Wanted him. Craved him. And despite the current circumstances, Blair couldn't keep her body from its automatic reaction to the two words, "Chuck Bass." Butterflies begin to flutter and flinch in her stomach and somehow the room seemed a little big bigger, a little brighter and airier.

Now she just had to find that uncle and everything would be back to normal.

* * *

Or not.

_It took Blair and Lily spent two hours of shifting through boxes of stuff and old, forgotten phonebooks of Bart's, filled with numbers scrawled so fast they were almost unreadable, to find Jack's number. Blair handled each leather-bound book delicately; something about touching Bart's old things was sort of eerie. But eventually they uncovered it and the number was in her hands as she phoned Jack Bass._

_His gravely voice over the line assured her that he would look for Chuck, and Blair let out a breath that she was sure she had been holding for days. She couldn't wait to have him back next to her, safe._

_But instead of being greeted with a healthy (albeit probably a little drunk or high) Chuck, she was met with something much, much worse._

Blair stood out side the van der Bass apartment building, dressed in a red coat, her perfect ringlets blowing in the cold winter breeze. Dorota was next to her, tapping her black-shoed foot anxiously.

The Bass limo pulled up after only a few minutes of waiting out in the freezing air. The sleek black of the limo looked slightly out of place against the cloudy skies as the wind whipped against the dry streets, but both Dorota and Blair sucked in a breath of anticipation nonetheless.

The doorman hurried out to open the limo door, and as his palm clenched around the handle and pulled it open with a click, a handsome older man stepped out. He had a younger version of Bart's chiseled and detached face and Chuck's perfectly combed deep brown hair, but his eyes were frighteningly bright blue and had a sparkle of wildness dancing in the corners.

Blair felt slightly guarded. So this was Jack Bass. She wasn't expecting someone so…Chuck-like. The resemblance to both him and Bart was a little creepy, and the expectant look on her face was immediately replaced with her mask of sheer bitchiness.

"Blair!" Jack waved a hand in air gallantly, gesturing to the limo he had just stepped out of. He moved a bit closer to her and Blair felt the need to step back, his eyes leering at her. "You came to greet us."

Blair couldn't help but glare at him; he was so cocky. His attitude reminded her of Chuck, but from a different era, before she'd seen his softer side. This was Chuck without emotions, a Chuck that only wanted money and booze and women. She could see it in his eyes, the way he ogled her legs, clad in white tights and red heels.

Yes, no matter what he'd done for her to bring Chuck back, Blair could say that she already despised Jack Bass.

"Not you," Blair finally answered. "Chuck. You said you found him."

Jack smirked, finally lifting his eyes from her legs. "In Bangkok." He nodded egotistically and Blair rolled her eyes, annoying at his arrogance. "He was staying at our hotel there."

Blair breathed a sigh of comfort. Chuck was okay. She was about to demand to see him when Jack continued to ramble on. "You know, you hear the term 'den of iniquity,' but until you really see one…"

"Do you have him or not?" Blair interrupted. She was getting impatient, and an impatient Blair Waldorf wasn't something that was easily dealt with.

Jack stopped his disjointed mumble of facts and various things about Chuck that Blair didn't really care to know, and instead yanked open the limo door once again. "Nephew of mine? _On eat arrivee_."

Dorota grasped the edge of Blair's sleeve in a nervous hand as they both stared into the darkness of the limo's leather interior, both slightly of afraid of what might come out. Blair's whole body was practically buzzing with nerves and anticipation, but they dulled as she waited, nothing appearing from the limo for what felt like years.

Jack sighed, exasperated, and reached into the car, pulling out an unconscious Chuck. Blair gasped the second she saw him, because he didn't look like _her_ Chuck at all. He was wearing wrinkled blue velour pants and his hair was a wild mess, not sleek and side-parted like usual but falling into his closed eyes. He was pale and weak, his entire body reeking with the smell of scotch and cigarettes. Blair couldn't do anything but stare at what he'd become in just two short weeks away from home.

Jack looked unperturbed, though, and proceeded to drag the half-dead Chuck towards the wide glass doors of the building. "Could you tell his teachers he's taking a personal day?" he yelled over his shoulder as the doorman, looking rather disturbed, opened the door to let the Bass men pass through.

Blair watched them go and Dorota noticed the faraway look in her eyes. "Are you worried, Miss Blair?"

She nodded silently. If she didn't help him, Chuck would reverse back to how he used to be. Always half-drunk, partially stoned, women draped all over him at parties, kissing his mouth, his ears, his neck. And in fifteen years, he would become just another Jack Bass, another _jackass_, and the man she fell in love with would be gone forever. Not to mention, with how awful he'd looked just then, Blair was a little afraid he would self-destruct in the process.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry this chapter was so short. I was going to make it longer, but I figured I'd drag it out a little more. Please, please, please review! It makes my day and lets me know that you appreciate what I'm writing. Also, thanks to everyone that reviewed on the last chapter. That includes: suspensegirl, XcrossingjordanX, Bella012, Princess Persephone, xxktnxx, doubleAntics, Ollywood3, fizliz23, xcrazyangelx1800, chairalltheway, princetongirl, SnowedUnderNJ, TheCutie, SammieK, nicolexox123 and bluestriker666. Thank you guys so much and keep on reading and reviewing! xD


	5. Restless, Sleepless, Helpless

**Title: **When The Devil Can't Save Himself

**Word Count: **n/a yet

**Rating: **PG-13, maybe R at one point

**Warnings/Spoilers: **All of season 1, aired season 2 and spoilers for episodes 2.12 through **2.15**.

**Summary: **Bart Bass. Shot. Dead. Murdered. Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying.

**Official Disclaimer: **All _Gossip Girl _plots and characters belong to Cecily von Ziegeser, Josh Schwartz and the CW. I do not own the company or the people. The characters featured in this story are not mine.

**Author's Note: **Chapter four! I actually finished this yesterday, well, today, but really early in the morning, but I was too lazy to put to up. Anyway, I know this chapter seems rather repetitive with Chuck's actions compared to chapter two, but it is going to be a lot like that, I'll warn you. It's going to escalate every time, though. Plenty more angst is coming, as you can see, with Chuck being very conflicted over his feelings for Blair and his reluctance to let her in. Eventually you'll find out Jack Bass's real intentions about wanting to "help" Chuck, as well. Enjoy! :)

* * *

Lily sat alone at the kitchen table, eyes still covered in her dark glasses. An untouched plate of food was set in front of her, but she still stared into space, barely taking in the bright, bustling surroundings. She was slightly aware of the sound of footsteps, though, as they entered the dining room and paused next to her seat.

Lily looked up to see a pair of perfectly pressed pants, a dress shirt, a black jacket and a pair of bright blue eyes staring straight into hers. She almost gasped as she was met with a face that completely matched Bart's. _Her _Bart's. He had the same lined forehead and the same slightly turned down lips, but this man was smirking, his mouth twisted in a way that looked more like Chuck than his father.

Lily glanced the man up and down once again. "You must be Jack Bass." She reached out a hand for him to shake, but instead he cradled it in his, brushing his lips across her knuckles.

"Yes, I am. And you're Lily, I'm sure." Jack took in her smooth hair and the way her silk robe fell across her bare thighs in a way that was much too appreciative for a man that was the brother of her deceased husband and could easily be fifteen years younger than her. He nodded, giving way to another Chuck-like smirk. "Pleasure."

Jack glanced over his shoulder at the sprawling modern apartment, taking in the glass tabletops, boxy cream-colored couches and art covering the walls. "Chuck's in bed. I figured I'd let him sleep it off," he concluded, as if he held all the authority for Chuck's well-being.

Despite Jack's blatant cockiness, Lily was relieved to hear that Chuck was back, and safe. "Jack, again, thank you so much. Blair and I were so worried."

Jack nodded, seeming distracted, as if he couldn't care less. He took another look at the expensively decorated apartment and then reached down, pulling off Lily's sunglasses. She immediately moved to shield her eyes from the bright lights. They were still tender and sore, outlined with redness from days of constantly tearing up and letting the salt stain her skin. "It bright in here?" he asked rudely.

Lily pulled her glasses out of his fingertips and laid them on the table next to her. She began to rub her temples, smooth fingers against smooth skin. "I have a migraine."

"Uh-huh…" Jack said skeptically. He ran a hand through his dark hair and pulled out a chair next to Lily's. "Lily, we need to talk." Apparently the conversation wasn't so important that it overwrote a need for food, Lily noticed, as Jack picked up a warm croissant and poured himself a cup of coffee.

He took a deep breath, setting down the croissant and letting its buttery crumbs spread on the plate. Leaning forward on his elbows until he was looking straight into Lily's eyes, Jack began what sounded like a rehearsed speech. "Look, I get that Bart dying has been difficult, but the way things have been handled the last couple weeks; you shut away like Gloria Swanson, my nephew MIA in a Thai bordello…" He slowly shook his head, like the van der Basses were the saddest family he'd ever seen. "My brother may not have won Parent of the Year, but I doubt he'd be too happy."

_What was he getting at? _Lily couldn't tell, so she decided to ignore what sounded like a lead-in to Jack attempting to uncover some kind of family secret or something equally ridiculous. "Well, you needn't worry yourself anymore. Chuck is my stepson. I'll take care of him."

Jack sighed, sounding annoyed. "_Was _your stepson. And as Chuck's last living relative…" Lily felt a twinge of deep sadness for the boy, who was forever losing everything he cared about. "…I have to say, I don't feel comfortable leaving him in this situation."

Lily felt like she had been hit with a bucket of cold water that was now trickling down her entire body. Who was this man to tell her how to parent her children? Whether Jack thought so or not, Chuck was still legally bound to her, and she really did care about him. Lily could tell that Jack Bass did not have good intentions, but she couldn't pinpoint exactly what they were just yet.

Jack, seemingly oblivious to her shocked expression, continued on blissfully. He stood and made his way over to Lily, tapping the edge of her plate with one fingernail. "You should eat. People grieving tend to neglect their health."

_Damn you, Jack Bass_.

* * *

Blair sat on the edge of Chuck's bed, perched on the soft beige fabric. He was sprawled out next to her, smelling like alcohol and secondhand smoke. Or firsthand. She wasn't sure.

His forehead was covered in beads of a cold sweat, and he lay perfectly still, the only indication of life being the rise and fall of his chest underneath the soft blue covering of his sweatshirt and plain white T-shirt. Blair leaned over him, taking his cold, clammy hand in hers and carefully stroking his hair back from his forehead.

Blair couldn't deny her feelings. She was scared as hell; beginning to wonder how long he'd been unconscious, how long he'd lay with his eyes shut, barely breathing. It was like a scene of from an old movie, a doting wife sitting by her deathly ill husband's beside, promising to stay with him forever. But for once Blair was not at all appreciative of her cinematic surroundings. She would trade everything, all of it, for Chuck to open his eyes and be okay.

Blair continued her calm, steady rhythm of pushing his hair up off his forehead, feeling the soft, messy curls. She took the moment to look at him. Even hungover and stoned, he looked like he should be in a painting, framed to hold his beauty forever. His mess of dark hair, not perfectly styled like it always was, gave him an air of recklessness; his pale face brought out his striking bone structure; his thick eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, making him look less intimidating and more like a young child at peace. Even his body was beautiful, not quite as built as Nate's, but strong and solid all the same. She could have admired him for days, but admiring him was much more fun when she was on top of him and he would…

_No_. Blair wouldn't allow herself to think of him like that. He was broken. He needed her, but he had also just pushed her away. She remembered the cold whip of the wind across her face and the pained look that tore apart his features as he told her to stay away. To get out of his life.

She wondered if he'd even want her here when he woke up. Maybe she should just go. She wouldn't want to make him even more angry at her than he already wa-

Just as Blair had picked up her purse and was tiptoeing to the door, Chuck's eyes flitted open. "Blair?" His voice was scratchy and hoarse; weak and exhausted. His finally-opened eyes were rimmed with thick red circles and were glassy but somehow harsh at the same time. There he was, her Chuck.

"Chuck!" Blair was by his side in a second, looking at his bedraggled clothes and tired coffee-colored eyes. "I…you…you're awake."

"What are you doing here?" He glared at her as best at her with foggy pupils, his words rough, like they'd been worn down between his chapped lips before leaving his mouth.

* * *

"_What are you doing here?" _

The words came out much colder than Chuck had intended. He secretly loved that fact that Blair had been sitting her, next to him, for God knows how long, just waiting for him to open his eyes. But he openly hated it, because he didn't want her here. He'd rather fight off his incredible pounding headache and churning stomach on his own. He didn't need an audience to witness every moment of his self-demolishing breakdown.

"I wanted to see if you were okay." Blair's old confidence wasn't there anymore. It was replaced by a concerned air that made her sparkling dark eyes dull out and her curls hang flat. Chuck hated concern, and he hated Blair for being concerned about him. "Chuck, no one saw or heard from you in two weeks! For all we knew, you could have been dead!"

Chuck moaned, rolling over so he faced away from Blair. "I might as well be dead." His head felt like it was knocking against his skull, and the bile was rising so quickly in his already sore throat that he was sure he was going to be sick within seconds. He jumped off of the bed onto leaden legs and banged open the door to his bathroom, throwing himself down on his knees in front of the toilet.

He didn't see Blair come in behind him at first, but he noticed when she knelt beside him and began to gently rub his back. Chuck hated the way it made him feel, the way it felt to rely on her for comfort, for purpose. Even her touching him was a reminder of how things used to be, and it would probably be best if he could get those reminders out of his head for good. If he was around her, they would never go away, those memories of better times; of a happier boy, a smirking villainous teenager with a good heart. He needed them to go away.

So when his stomach was empty, he had collapsed on the tiled floor; the coolness feeling good against his feverish cheeks; and Blair had sat next to him, leaning a head on his shoulder and taking one of his now-warm hands in hers, he shoved her away.

"Get the fuck out." Chuck's voice wavered from behind a clenched jaw and fiery eyes as he attempted to stand up, head pounding in overdrive.

"What…?" Blair squinted up at him, looking slightly afraid and more than a little hurt. "Chuck, I'm sorry. I know you might not want me here, but I want to try to help you."

"Do I look like I need _help_?" Chuck's entire body was shaking with a mixture of cold, sickness and rage.

"Yes!" Blair observed his trembling hands and the way his bloodshot eyes darted around the room. Her heart felt like it was being jerked around with every angry syllable he spoke in her direction, as she watched him falling apart in front of her eyes. "Chuck, you need someone right now. I know you don't think you do, but…"

"You don't know _anything _about me!" Chuck swayed back and forth, cross-eyed, looking like he was about to pass out or throw up again. "I want you to leave, Blair." He sucked in a deep breath, trying to get himself back under control. "I want you to leave, and I don't want you to come back."

Blair stared at him, her eyes filling with tears. She nodded once and turned back into the bedroom, picking up her bag and jacket and walking out without another word.

The sound of the door shutting echoed in his aching head as he stumbled back to the warmth of his bed. Chuck was still trying to fight off the feeling that he wanted Blair to be here next to him, how good it would feel to be wrapped in her arms, to feel her quick, fluttering heartbeat instead of just his own listless, dull one. But she couldn't be near him. He would never admit it to anyone, but he was scared to death of caring again. When he didn't care, everything was easier. He could go when he pleased, do what he wanted. Caring was much harder. _Love _was even worse.

Ss he drifted back into a restless sleep, the only thing he could think about was that he _knew _why he'd practically pushed Blair out that door. The fact that both of the people he'd loved even more than he loved her both left him, so suddenly, so soon…Chuck felt like, by caring for Blair, he would be wishing the same thing upon her. And if he lost her, the tiny thread that was still hanging on to everything he used to know would snap and he'd be nothing. Nothing, no one, never. Chuck needed her, but he would never let that phrase pass his lips. So instead of letting out the waterfall of tears that threatened to pour from the corners of his milky brown eyes, he turned over onto his stomach, pulled a pillow over his head and repeated the phrase that'd he'd always relied on to get him through moments like these.

_Chuck Bass doesn't need anyone_.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I hope that ending part with Chuck made sense :o I also hoped you liked the rest of the chapter. I'm trying to put a lot of time into these, but I can't tell if they're getting worse or better. :P Anyway, thanks to everyone that reviewed last time: brookeb566, LittleDancer-123x, suspensegirl, Edwardslover09, JaneA0202, fizliz23, bluestriker666, Princess Persephone, xcrazyangelx1800, maggymoo21, IHeartOTH05, NaturalDisaster521, TheCutie and princeton girl. Thank you guys so much. Reviews always make my day, so please, please, please keep reading and reviewing!!! :)


	6. And The Darkness Sets In

**Title: **When The Devil Can't Save Himself

**Word Count: **n/a yet

**Rating: **PG-13, maybe R at one point

**Warnings/Spoilers: **All of season 1, aired season 2 and spoilers for episodes 2.13 through 2.15.

**Summary: **Bart Bass. Shot. Dead. Murdered. Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying.

**Official Disclaimer: **All _Gossip Girl _plots and characters belong to Cecily von Ziegeser, Josh Schwartz and the CW. I do not own the company or the people. The characters featured in this story are not mine.

**Author's Note: **I'm so sorry this chapter took a little longer than usual to get up, and I don't know if it's up to standards, since I keep getting inspiration for later chapters and none for this middle part. Also, because I wrote the first part, the Lily/Chuck scene last night with a pounding headache and today I've been out skiing all day and then at a party, so I'm exhausted. I'm so sorry if this isn't very good, guys. Later chapters will be better, I promise. More Jack Bass next chapter, too, and some Chuck and Blair interaction. :D

* * *

As days passed, Lily noticed that Jack's constant presence was doing Chuck no good. He was still always hungover and exhausted, dark circles and bags under his eyes. She would always spot him sprawled on one of the white living room couches or lying with eyes closed on his bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of silk boxers or one of his intricately designed velvet bathrobes. He was never without a glass of scotch in his hand and a joint between his fingers, drowning himself in amber liquid and sucking in chemicals.

Lily also noticed that Blair didn't seem to stop by anymore. She watched in the morning, when the sun was peaking up over the tips of the skyscrapers and at night, when the lights glittered like jewels against another dark, moonless sky, but she saw nothing. Chuck went to bed alone and woke up the same way to begin the same routine, day after day.

Jack was staying in one of the guest rooms, although he did little but order around the maids and drain large amounts of the liquor cabinet. He had yet to really speak to Chuck about what had happen, and he didn't seem eager to. Whenever Lily had passed by his door on the way to her room at night, she'd seen him hunched over the dark wood desk, a single work light illuminating the cream-colored sheets in his hand as he studied them with the eye of a hawk. Sheets that were covered in tiny fonts and signatures at the bottoms. Sheets that Lily couldn't see from the bedroom door. Sheets that, after a few days, she'd given up on trying to see, although she was still intensely curious and even more so _worried _about Mr. Jack Bass's real reason for returning to the city.

It was early still. Golden and pink sunlight was just peeking over the tops of the large, shining silver buildings that surrounded them, and already the roads were busy: limos and cars and trucks and taxis rushing and whirling them off to their final destination. Lily knocked on the door to Chuck's bedroom and after getting no response, pushed it open with a gentle hand.

He was huddled under the covers, fast asleep, hands gripping the blanket near his face like a child. His eyes were shut peacefully, and he looked so sweet and at ease with his long, dark lashes and soft mess of chocolate brown hair and the slightest tinge of pink on his pale cheeks. Lily felt that if she even reached to tap him on the shoulder and wake him, she would be disrupting some kind of art, something beautiful and peaceful and perfect.

Instead of attempting to wake Chuck, Lily looked around the room. Modern art hung on the walls and several of Chuck's scarves were draped over chairs and bunched on his bedside table. A couple of books full of torn out pages and bright highlighter markers littered the soft, white carpet, along with a large assortment of black clothing: jeans and button-downs, dress pants, pinstriped suits, ties, bowties…the works.

As she was about to turn back to the task that brought her to Chuck's room in the first place, something caught Lily's eyes. A framed picture of a beautiful young woman with deep dark hair in a bun and Chuck's eyes and cheekbones sat on his dresser. It had been pushed back and surrounded with other mindless photos of Nate and Chuck, Chuck and Blair, Chuck and Serena, partying, smiling, laughing, drinks in hand and bright lights of a club around them.

She couldn't take her eyes off the back picture, though. His mother. It had to be. He had shoved it practically against the wall; as if he was trying to forget about it, forget about her. Lily felt a stinging realization. No one had taught the boy how to live and no one had certainly told him how to love. Chuck might act like he didn't need anyone and he was perfectly capable of handling things on his own, but deep inside he was still a little boy, living his childhood through a simple picture and a promise from his dead father that things would get better.

"Lily?" Chuck's eyes opened slowly as he blinked the sleep out of them and attempted to sit up, his hands pressing against the heap of pillows his dark head had just been leaning against.

"Oh, hello, Charles." Lily tore her eyes away from the picture and looked down at Chuck. The blankets were wrapped around his entire body, and she guessed he probably wasn't wearing much underneath. "I was just thinking that you should try and go back to school today."

"Why?" His eyes were wide and innocent, a first. "I don't want to." He sounded like a desperate little child, on his way to his very first day of kindergarten. "I'm not…" Every breath Chuck took was shaky, forced. "I'm not ready. Please, just one more day."

"You've been saying that for a while now, Chuck." Lily sat on the edge of his bed and looked into the eyes of the defiant teenager in front of her. "I think it's time you…both of us…faced things. Maybe there's more out there than…" Lily gestured to the half-empty bottle of scotch on his desk and the disastrous state of his room. "…this."

Chuck sighed, clenching his jaw as he firmly set his perpetual mask in place. "Whatever you say," he muttered, a rough edge to his voice already.

* * *

Within a half hour, Chuck was showered and fully dressed, looking better than he had in weeks. He stared in the mirror, his sharp profile and squinted brown eyes glinting back at him. His wet brown hair was combed to the side and his signature scarf was in place over a yellow button-down shirt, tie and his St. Jude's blazer, somewhat of a teenage security blanket against the whispered rumors that were sure to follow him through the courtyard and into his classes today.

Sure enough, the moment shoe met pavement and he stepped out of his limo, the glossy heads of Constance girls and preppy haircuts of St. Jude's boys turned to stare. Cell phone buttons were clicking eagerly in their hands, alerting their friends, friends of friends, and of course, Gossip Girl, of Chuck's return. Chuck was sure that within moments she would have a section of pictures and a post dedicated to his several week absence. He didn't even care anymore. He just felt sort of empty, ghostly. Numb.

As Chuck made his way down the boys' hall, Dan Humphrey approached him from behind. His eyes were wide and his face was shaved clean, making him look more innocent than Chuck knew he was. Much more.

"Hey, Chuck." Dan fell into step beside him as if they were old friends. Chuck stared to glare at him, his upper lip curling in disgust.

"Humphrey." Chuck turned away, disdain obvious in his voice. So there was no feeling in his arms or legs or heart, but one thing he hadn't completely blocked from his memory was his extreme hate for Dan _fucking _Humphrey. Dan fucking Humphrey and his entire fucking family, with their dumb ass Brooklyn loft and all of their "morals." _Morals_? If you could call being partially responsible for the orphaning of a seventeen-year-old boy having goddamn _morals_.

Chuck's breath caught in his throat and he stopped in his tracks, hoping Dan would continue on ahead and he would have a moment to collect himself. This first day had barely started and already he was both depressed and fired up. Having that combination bubbling deep inside of him made Chuck sick to his stomach, as even being near Humphrey made it harder to push other thoughts and memories to the back of his mind. Including ones about beautiful brunette princesses with deep brown eyes and perfect red lips…

Dan's voice interrupted Chuck's train of guilty thoughts as he spoke. "So, listen, I wanted to say I'm sorry, for the story, for what happened at the funeral…"

"You want to say you're _sorry_? After all of that, you think _sorry _is going to cut it?" Chuck wanted to scream those words with every bit of air he had left in his lungs, wanted to have them, everything, out in the open. But opening up to Dan Humphrey was a mistake, he'd learned. A big one. If it hadn't been for the one stupid night, for those couple of stupid drinks and that stupid high-class hooker slut whose boyfriend Dan had slammed to the ground, everything would be the same. Nothing would be perfect, but everything would be better. Better than this, anyway. Better than this loneliness, this emptiness, this nothing feeling right.

But instead of letting those words fall from his lips, Chuck snarled something else instead. "Oh, really, Brooklyn? Did your daddy tell you to apologize to me? Did he tell you it was the _right thing_ to do? Because, let me inform you of the fact that I don't think it is."

Dan stood in front of Chuck, a ratty-looking sweater over the button-down below his blazer and his face twisted and confused. "Wait, Chuck…"

Chuck flicked up the longest of his five fingers in one of his favorite crude gestures and strode past Dan. "Fuck off."

* * *

Blair sat in history class that morning, anxiously tapping her ballpoint pen against her black and white notebook. She was trying to keep her attention on the teacher's rambling of facts, writing them down in her neat, even penmanship, but even staring at the longest list of ancient wars couldn't stop the pounding of her heart.

She had obviously gotten the message from Gossip Girl, opened her phone to find dozens of messages from classmates and others, wondering what she knew about where Chuck was, why he was gone. The speculations were already flying: rehab, the Ostroff Center, a month in Monaco. None of them were correct, but Blair couldn't stand to say anything, either. She hadn't spoken to Chuck since that one morning a little over a week ago, when he'd told her for the second time to stay out of his life. She had begun to doubt that he'd return to St. Jude's and had to practically restrain herself from leaving fifty messages on his phone. She was giving him his space. That's what he wanted, right? If she was doing everything that he told her to do; stay away from him, leave him alone; then why did she still feel like she wasn't doing enough?

Most likely because she _wasn't _doing anything. Chuck wanted her to stay away, but for some reason she felt lost without him, even this grieving maniac he'd become, and she wished he'd feel the same way too.

When the bell rang, Blair quickly collected her things and pushed open the door, her high heels clicking against the floor as she headed out into the courtyard, wearing only a blouse and a patterned red and blue sweater to shield her from the cold air. She spotted Serena sitting at a table in a long cream-colored coat and a matching scarf, her butter blond hair blowing in the wind. But before Blair could make her way over there, something caught her eye.

Blair saw a figure leaning up against the wall a ways away. He had a joint rolled in his hand and long puffs of smoke where emitting from his perfectly shaped lips. She panned her eyes up his body, from his shoes to his navy pants and yellow shirt and tie and blazer and…scarf. It was Chuck.

Blair froze in place, staring at him, all kinds of nervousness running through her veins. There he was, as dark and handsome as ever, but with a paler tint to his skin and a harder look to his eyes, like he was closed off from the world. For good this time.

She saw his cheeks suck in as he took another long drag, his shoes toeing at something on the ground as he directed his eyes that way as well. He wasn't wearing a coat. She could see the redness on his hands and cheeks and wondered how long he'd been standing out here in the frigid winter air.

"Mr. Bass?" The headmistress, Ms. Queller, stepped through the double doors and immediately spotted her obviously least favorite rebellious teenager. "What do you think you're doing?"

Blair watched everything unfold with a front-row seat, but instead she was wishing she was somewhere else as she saw Ms. Queller step directly in front of Chuck. He paused halfway through the inhale with the joint still in his mouth, and instead of dropping it with a sheepish smile, he dragged in another stream of chemical and stared defiantly into her eyes. Blair could see that from even far away, Chuck's irises were hard and almost black. She could hardly imagine what they must look like up close. A lock of hair fell into his face, and he looked very much like a villain with the slicked back darkness atop his head and his even darker eyes.

Blair was afraid. This wasn't the Chuck she knew. This was someone completely different. Gone was the vulnerable young boy; in his place was an angry almost-adult, a monster full of sadness and a pain he couldn't escape.

* * *

**Author's Note **Thank you so much for reading. I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, so if you could review and tell me what you liked/disliked, that was be really helpful and amazing. :) I didn't get as many reviews as usual last time, but a giant 'thank you' goes to those who did: xxktnxx, fizliz23, Princess Persephone, bookworm455, princetongirl, bluestriker666, TheCutie, IHeartOTH05, suspensegirl, NaturalDisaster521 and Piccolo Chic. Please, please, please keep reading and reviewing. It means so much to me. :)


	7. Masochists and Narcissists

**Title: **When The Devil Can't Save Himself

**Word Count: **n/a yet

**Rating: **PG-13, maybe R at one point

**Warnings/Spoilers: **All of season 1, aired season 2 and spoilers for 2.14 through 2.15.

**Summary: **Bart Bass. Shot. Dead. Murdered. Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying.

**Official Disclaimer: **All _Gossip Girl _plots and characters belong to Cecily von Ziegesar, Josh Schwartz and the CW. I do not own the company or the people. The characters featured in this story are not mine.

**Author's Note: **I'm so sorry this chapter took forever to get out. With no Gossip Girl episode this week, I was feeling slightly uninspired, and I had a ton of schoolwork to do. But now I'm off on break, so I should be able to update more frequently. Anyway, some of the conversation in the office between Blair, Jack and Ms. Queller is from the sides, but I changed most of it. I'm trying to follow recent spoilers and work in some 2.13 lines while sticking to the plot I've created. I hope that makes sense. Enjoy!

**Note: In this story, Eleanor and Cyrus are not yet married. **

* * *

Chuck leaned back in the large leather chair in Headmistress Queller's office. A playful smirk was touching at his lips, but his eyes remained as blank and emotionless as they had been for weeks now. "So, what brings me here?"

Blair glanced over at him, slumped in the chair, his school clothes wrinkled and his hair the complete mess she'd now grown accustomed too. She had managed to force her way into Chuck's "meeting," much to his dismay, and had every intent of getting him out of this without punishment. Blair had never known Bart Bass very well, but she did know that he surely wouldn't have wanted his son being expelled by one of the best private schools in the city for doing drugs on school grounds. "Ms. Queller…" she began.

Ms. Queller held up her hand. "I still don't know what in the world you're doing in here, Ms. Waldorf, but I'd like to speak to Charles first, if you don't mind." Her tone was commanding and rude, causing Blair to sit back in her seat with a huff, adjusting the green sweater that contrasted perfectly with her dark curls.

Suddenly, the ornately carved dark wood doors of the office flung open and Jack Bass strode in. His dark hair was perfectly combed, resembling how Chuck's always used to look, and he was wearing a pressed gray suit and tie. Blair immediately saw the look on Ms. Queller's face when she saw the startling resemblance to the two more infamous Bass men.

Within seconds, Jack was over to the desk and extending his hand for Ms. Queller to shake. "I'm Jack Bass, Chuck's uncle."

Ms. Queller nodded slowly, taking in Jack's attractive face and then looking back and forth between him and an already rumpled, dirty version of Chuck.

"Sorry I'm late," he continued, taking it upon himself to sit in the chair on the other side of Chuck. Blair narrowed her perfectly made-up eyes to send a glare his way, still managing to keep on her perfect, perky little smile for Headmistress Queller.

"Late for what, exactly?" Ms. Queller looked bewildered and confused, but she kept her posture perfect and eyes cold. "Do I know you?"

"I told you." Jack smiled and laughed a little, as if it was an appropriate time. "I'm Jack Bass, Chuck's uncle." He held out his hand again in a perfect mimic of the gesture he'd performed less than a minute earlier, causing Ms. Queller to sigh, annoyed, and do the Upper East Side professional's version of rolling her eyes.

"What I meant, is what are you doing here? Who gave you the permission to sit in on this meeting?" Headmistress Queller immediately glared in Blair's direction and she shrugged back. Maybe she should have thought a little more before she panicked and told Jack to bring Chuck back. If she hadn't contacted _him_, she wouldn't have to deal with him. She wouldn't even know he existed.

But then again, Chuck would still be out there somewhere, drunk and drugged and lonely, and who knew how long he would last like that?

"I heard Chuck was in some trouble here at school and I decided I would come and lend a helping hand," Jack smiled peacefully as Ms. Queller and Blair shared an annoyed look. Chuck was oblivious to the entire exchange, his red-rimmed eyes closing as his dark head leaned back against the soft leather of his chair. When Blair looked over at him, he looked so tired and vulnerable that she just wanted to wrap him in her arms and hold him until he fell asleep next to her. She hated staying away from him, and she hated the feelings that brought with it. Constant loneliness, even in crowds of people; guilt, for trying to help him; anger, for him telling her to stay away; and most of all, worry, because he was so completely lost...so completely broken that it could take weeks, months, years for him to be ready to have her again, to make her his own. To kiss her lips, to hold her hands, to even be near her.

"Blair. Blair!" Headmistress Queller was annoyed again, but this time at her. Not at Jack Bass, who had randomly come barging into their meeting, or at Chuck, who looked quite obviously hungover and miserable. "If you want to have a part in this meeting, I'm going to need you to pay attention."

Blair nodded, smiling sweetly and fighting the urge to stomp on _someone's _foot. "Jack, thank you, but I've got this covered."

"I figured, principal's office; boy needs a parent or guardian." Jack's smirk was all too much like Chuck's, although he was trying to pull it off in a professional-business-man-looking way. "Parents being dead…" Jack paused to glance at Chuck, whose muscles had immediately and subtly tensed at the mention of the word parents, and Blair wanted to throw him off of a building. The man was just so _damn _insensitive. "…Sorry, Chuck…" he added half-heartedly, per practical request by Blair (if a sudden and frightening death glare counted as a request).

Chuck raised a hand, twirling his fingers in the air absent-mindedly. He waved Jack off, motioning for him to continue. Blair watched in silence, cringing when Jack shot a look her way.

"…I'm the closest thing." Jack nodded conclusively. _Fuck him_. If Blair hadn't always been so desperate to impress teachers and other authority figures, she would slap Jack across his smartass face and walk out. "What seems to be the problem?"

Headmistress Queller opened a folder, pulling out a couple sheets of paper and glancing down at them, as if she'd forgotten what this meeting was about. "I found Charles smoking marijuana on school property."

Chuck shook his head, a lazy smirk playing his lips. "Hash, actually." He had a very Jack-like look in his eye when he spoke his next sentence, "I find it gives a softer high."

Jack looked over at Ms. Queller, giving her a I-think-I-believe-him look. "Sounds to me like the evidence is questionable." He smirked again, and Ms. Queller looked quickly back and forth from nephew to uncle, noticing their matching expressions with a look of slight terror.

Blair sighed, exasperated, and turned to face Jack. "Would you stop?"

Jack sent her a cocky smile. "Anything for a beautiful lady."

Blair's eyes widened in both shock and annoyance as she turned away from Jack's current eye-raping of her underneath her perfectly preppy school outfit to look at Chuck. He seemed to be completely out of it again, staring around in space, his eyes both motionless and wild, confused and decisive, halfway there, but not really. She turned to Headmistress Queller.

"I think we can agree that Charles…" she looked pointedly in Chuck's direction, but he was busy staring at a spot on the floor with a dazed look in his eyes. "…has been through quite an ordeal. The circumstances are most extenuating." Blair looked straight into Ms. Queller's eyes, attempting an innocent and pitiful expression on Chuck's behalf. "Can we forgive it this one time?"

Headmistress Queller sighed and glanced over to Chuck, who lifted his head to give her an unabashedly stoned and red-eyed stare. She seemed slightly frightened by the darkness in his eyes, and she clearly wanted the meeting to be finished. Ms. Queller pushed back her chair and stood, adjusting her blazer. "Would you promise me that nothing like this will ever happen again?"

Chuck gave a crooked grin, pulling another joint out of his pocket and lighting it. He stuck it between his parted lips, took a drag, and then squinted at Ms. Queller with that famous Chuck Bass look, daring her to yell at him. "For you, Headmistress, anything." He surveyed the room, from the paintings on the walls to Ms. Queller's dark wood desk, to the chairs in the corner, his tired eyes finally landing on Jack's seat. He carefully avoided Blair's inquisitive and worried glare, turning towards the doors. "Everyone, it's been a pleasure." He waved his joint in farewell as he pushed open the doors and headed down the hall.

Jack shrugged at Headmistress Queller, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "That went well." He stood and reached out a hand for her to shake yet again. Ms. Queller ignored him, glancing at the clock above his head. Jack gave her a half-frown before turning towards the doors and following Chuck out into the hallway, filled with bustling highschoolers in St. Jude's uniforms and preppy private school couture.

Blair pressed her hands to the arms of her chair, standing cautiously. "He's out of his right mind," she said, once again attempting to plead Chuck's case. If he would only appreciate it for once. She had just saved his ass. He could have been expelled!

Headmistress Queller exhaled again, shuffling through papers on her desk.

"He is!" Blair tapped the desk, trying to force Ms. Queller to look at her. "It's temporary insanity!"

"Thank you, Ms. Waldorf, but I think it's best you get back to class now. Charles and I will deal with his problems on his own from now on, thank you." She looked up at Blair with a stern look in her eye, and Blair backed towards the doors, uncharacteristically angry and nervous.

"Have a good day!" Blair trilled insincerely, shutting the door a little too hard. So if she wasn't supposed to help Chuck, then who would? Serena detested him, she always had. Dan had no place helping Chuck now; he was partially responsible for his current predicament. Nate didn't quite have the brainpower or the willpower to try to save anyone. Lily was too wrapped up in her own semi-loss. Jack Bass was a mediocre guardian at best, he seemed to be even worse off than Chuck in the "problem child" department.

Blair was all he had left, but until he realized that, there was nothing she could do.

* * *

Chuck strode down the hallway, shoving his body against the double doors to push it open. He ignored the sting against his elbows and continued to stomp through the courtyard, finally landing on a bench where he could smoke in peace.

What had Blair been doing at that meeting? Did he think it was her _responsibility _to take care of him? Please. He didn't need her. Her stupid, pathetic attempt at being there for him was doing him no good, was it? Because Chuck Bass _didn't need anyone_. That phrase had been practically drilled into his brain as he repeated it to himself.

But even through the constant drilling of those five words into his brain, he still didn't believe them. His body was aching for her to hold him. His eyes were begging to cry on her shoulder. His heart was permanently in two, and she was the only one that could fix that.

Chuck doubted he could be fixed now, though. He was too far gone. He had drunk too much, smoked too much, slept too little. He was a complete disaster, a total mess, and he couldn't turn back the clock. Not now, not ever.

Chuck turned towards the doors again, smoke making a lazy trail from his mouth, as he surveyed the groups of students huddled on the tables. They were all so perfect, so in control, with their perfectly groomed hair, their impeccable outfits, their fondness for school and their perfect grades. It was everything he could never be, and everything he was now letting go of. He was managing, mostly, to block previous memories from entering his mind. There was only one left he had to get rid of, and he figured it would take longer than the others.

Speak of the devil. Blair opened the doors and walked out, her heels clicking against the concrete. Her petite frame was wrapped in a white coat, her dark waves framing her gorgeous face. He just couldn't escape her, could he?

Chuck took another long drag on his joint and turned away from Blair's searching eyes. He tried to remain indifferent as she hesitated for a moment, then strode up to him, attempting to snatch the joint from his hand.

"What are you doing?" Chuck's voice slurred on his words a little as he yanked his hand away and stood up shakily, showcasing his obvious hangover and the fact that he was completely stoned. But even through the haze of chemicals, he could feel. Burning anger, burning guilt, burning sadness, eating away at him.

"You just got out of the office. Do you really want to go back there again?" Blair's voice was sarcastic, but it wavered a little as she tried to keep herself from throwing her arms around him. Chuck noticed. He always noticed everything about her, especially her emotions for him. They were like an open book to him always, even when he was lost and falling apart. "And it seems Ms. Queller has forbidden me from saving you this time."

"That's good." Chuck took a deep breath and sucked in on his joint again. "Then maybe you'll finally leave me alone." He didn't even glance at her this time, just stared down at his shoes and the cold concrete beneath them. A frozen breeze caught the air and whooshed past them, blowing their matching dark hair up towards the sky.

Chuck's words hit Blair straight in the chest, as they had every day since his father's funeral, every day since the Snowflake Ball. Her heart was completely scratched and torn and scraped free of every joyful feeling, but it hadn't broken yet and she wouldn't let it. She needed to be strong for him. "Chuck, I really am trying to help you. I want you to snap out of this…to just stop and to…" She grabbed his arm and pulled him to face her, his wool coat scratching against her moisturized palms. "…look at me. Chuck, look at me!" Blair reached up until her fingers touched the soft skin of his cheek, and she pushed his head in her direction until he was facing her.

No, he wouldn't look at her! He wouldn't allow anyone to see him like this, the mess that he was, getting worse every second. His stomach was upset and his head was pounding and his eyes were red, completing the look with vampire-esque half-circles of black and blue. Chuck Bass was falling. Falling into something he couldn't escape. But he couldn't feel the fear that could save him from dropping too far.

"Chuck, please. Look, I know this is hard for you, but I want to be there. I don't care what else you do, I just want to be a part of it and help you with whatever you're going through." Blair kept her hand on his arm, her heart beating wildly and furiously. Maybe now he would turn around. Maybe now she could look him in the eye. Maybe now he would allow her to hold him, hold him together, instead of breaking him apart.

Chuck didn't turn around. He felt the tears welling up his eyes at her confession, but as usual, he didn't let a single one spill. He clenched his jaw tightly, so tightly that he was sure he'd lose half his teeth, and tried to breathe deeply to calm the various pains shooting through his body and into his broken heart.

He couldn't breathe, though. He just wheezed wildly, feeling his "breakfast" of a couple glasses of scotch begin to prepare to make another appearance. "Go away, Blair," he choked out, feeling like a broken record. It was always the same words, every time, that made her leave. Would she now?

Blair answered his unspoken question in less than a second. "No, Chuck. I'm not leaving. I told you, I want to be there for you, no matter what. I…I…lo…"

Chuck knew exactly what she was about to say, but he wouldn't let her. He would not let those words come of her mouth, because then he'd have to be with her. And while that was the thing he wanted the most out of anything in the world, he shouldn't anymore. He'd end up breaking her too.

He silenced her by looking up at her, just like she wanted, but not, because now his eyes were cold and hard and dark and deep and endless, going on forever without really a point of stopping. Blair's breath caught in her throat, and she gaped at him, his monster. She had never seen him look so disheveled, so dangerous and villainous.

"You know what? If you're not going to leave, I will." Chuck flicked his joint from between his fingers, tossing it to the ground. He stared at her with another deadly, terrifying glare. The tears in her eyes registered somewhere deep inside of him, but he was too exhausted and damaged to act on it. So he left, walking away until he passed through the doors into the school and the only thing she could see of him was a sort of mirage of him, treading his steps slowly, walking away from her. Leaving her, again.

She had almost said it. Said those three words, eight letters that, a couple of months ago, would have fixed anything and everything. Now they fixed nothing. They obviously meant nothing to him, and if they did, he didn't show it.

Blair didn't know what to do. She was terrified for him, annoyed with him, angry with him, and sadness bordering on depression filled her body. It was so damn infuriating that even while drug-addled and hungover, he could still make her feel all of those things and more.

* * *

"He is so infuriating!" Blair stomped out from the elevator into the Waldorf penthouse, her heels clacking on the marble floors. She tossed her coat onto a table by the stairs and continued to move forward and talk at a racing pace. "I almost told him I loved him, _almost_, and he basically told me to go away. And then he left instead." Blair's eyes began to water as the emotions swelled and shrunk her heart in turn as it pounded heavily. "Help me."

Cyrus, Eleanor's boyfriend of a couple months and Blair's soon to be stepfather (a fact that kept slipping her mind, due to her state of current crisis), placed his coat gently on top of Blair's. He unwrapped the soft plaid scarf from around his neck and folded it carefully as he spoke. "You don't need help. He just needs time."

Blair shook her head. "I don't understand what I did or didn't do, but…" Big, wet tears began to roll down Blair's cheeks, staining her face. "Only a masochist could ever love such a narcissist."

"Blair, him wanting to be alone doesn't mean he doesn't love you just as much as you love him. Grieving is a process. I would know." Cyrus gave her one of his famously cocky and charming smiles, but Blair couldn't find the strength to smile back. "Some people feel the need to hold friends and family and even casual acquaintances close, and some feel the need to push everyone away. It seems Chuck is doing that latter, and you need to understand that that's okay, all right? He'll come around soon."

Blair gave a little smile through the salty tears that had tracked themselves down her face. "How is it that you know everything?"

"Because, Blair, I've lived through it all." Cyrus's smile was mysterious now, but still kind. He placed a hand on her shoulder for a moment as he walked past her and up the stairs. Blair looked after him, wondering how the tiny man that she used to hate had become her confidante, especially since Serena had decided that neither Chuck nor Blair was worth her time and had decided to spend said time hanging out with Dan and Jenny in Brooklyn.

Blair's wandering thoughts were interrupted by Eleanor walking her way, waving some papers in the air. Her glasses were perched on her nose, and she wore an original lavender silk Waldorf Designs top that swayed against her figure as she made her way to Blair.

"What is that, mother?" Blair tried to keep the exhaustion out of her voice, but it was impossible. She had just had one of the worst, most tiring days of her entire life. What could Eleanor possibly want now?

"I have a great idea for you. I know how you're always going on about being a society woman…"

"Mother, please-," Blair tried to interrupt. She didn't have time to go to any sort of gathering right now. No matter what anyone told her to do, she was going to help Chuck, and she was going to help him now, before he dug his own grave and filled it with tiny white pills. Overdosing, alcohol poisoning…anything and everything was possible in Chuck's self-destructing mode and the fact that he "needs time" didn't mean that he has to destroy himself in the process…did it?

"Why don't you try this?" Eleanor held up an embossed invitation. It read _Colony Club _in gold cursive, and it smelled of flowery perfume and high society. "It's a prestigious women's club. If you want to try to get in, they're meeting tonight."

Blair took the invitation from her. Maybe her original plan of going to van der Bass place to check on Chuck tonight wasn't such a good idea after all. He was bound to be even more out of it than he had been this morning, and even fearless Blair was afraid of what he might do or say while intoxicated. This could be just the thing to get her mind off of him for one night.

Only one, though. Because while Blair loved women's clubs and sophisticated Upper East Side women, she loved Chuck more. And she _would _get him to be with her, confide in her, just sit with her for a moment and let himself cry. She wanted to be his shoulder to lean on, and even if he rejected her time and time again (her heart ached at the thought of it), she would keep going. That was what love was, right? Never giving up. Tying yourself to that person forever when they need you, regardless of whether they want to receive that love or not.

Yes, Blair Waldorf was completely, totally and unconditionally in love with Chuck Bass.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I hope you liked this chapter. I just had to introduce Cyrus as a character (in a pretty rushed way, I'd admit), but I love him and his advice. I'm also loving the way I'm writing Jack Bass...perverted and funny, but still devious, as you will see soon. Also, expect some Chuck/Serena interaction in the next couple chapters (you know how I loved my step-sibiling bonding 3) and some pretty intense stuff next chapter. Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter: fizliz23, suspensegirl, TheCutie, Piccolo Chic, JaneA0202, flipped, MrsChairNaley, bluestriker666, Princess Persephone, LittleDancer-123x, iHEARTchuck05, xcrazyangelx1800, princeton girl and malfoyie456. Reviews mean a lot to me and push me to keep on writing. So keep on reviewing! Love you guys.


	8. Once Broken

**Title: **When The Devil Can't Save Himself

**Word Count: **n/a yet

**Rating: **PG-13, maybe R at one point

**Warnings/Spoilers: **All of season 1, aired season 2 and spoilers for 2.14 through 2.15.

**Summary: **Bart Bass. Shot. Dead. Murdered. Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying.

**Official Disclaimer: **All _Gossip Girl _plots and characters belong to Cecily von Ziegeser, Josh Schwartz and the CW. I do not own the company or the people. The characters featured in this story are not mine.

**Author's Note: **Okay, I'm trying to update once a week, but it's been pretty hectic with the holidays and everything. My mom and I are watching back episodes of Gossip Girl, she's getting into the show, and I've been trying to spend time with the rest of the family as well, so sorry it took a little longer. This chapter shows some development in Blair, and next chapter you'll see some in Chuck. I know his attitude hasn't changed very much throughout the story and for a Chuck-centic fic there's more of Blair than him, but I promise that will change in the next couple chapters. Chuck's downward spiral is about to get a lot more serious, and people are going to have to start putting that first. That's all I'll say for now. ;)

* * *

Blair stared into her full-length mirror, examining her outfit from head to toe. A gray silk dress clung to her curves, but managed to look elegant when combined with a long, looping string of silvery pearls. Black patterned tights worked their way up her toned legs and slipped into matching heels. Her dark hair was put up in an elegant twist, and her makeup was subtle yet enchanting, her trademark red lipstick in place. Everything was in perfect order.

She turned away from the mirror and looked towards her bed, glancing from the silk comforter to the heavy curtains and the antique furniture. There was not a spot left untouched. Blair had cleaned the entire space herself this afternoon, between when Eleanor gave her the Colony Club invitation to now. She _never _cleaned.

Though, she figured, it was more likely because she get her mind off of things than because she didn't like the usual clutter of shoes on the floor and cashmere sweaters and school uniforms tossed onto the chairs and desk.

Blair's mind flashed briefly to Chuck, and she wondered where he was right now. Probably in his suite, the TV on mute, staring blankly at the ever-present glass of scotch in his hand. He was probably drinking himself into a coma, not that that was anything new.

Blair sighed, shoving all thoughts of the dark-haired villain she had so unfortunately been cursed with loving from her mind. She was off to the Colony Club meeting, ready to make a good impression and find some way to distract herself while…_he_…was busy ruining his life.

_God_, she could not get him out of her mind! No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many cleansing breathes she took, no matter how much she focused on finding the perfect outfit for the meeting and examining every inch of her room, making sure it was pristine; she would never be able to let go of him. Never.

* * *

The pounding music flooded the large room, the sound echoing off the dark wood walls and making its way up to the balcony, where Chuck stood, leaning onto the banister and surveying the crowd below him. Bright, colorful lights flashed on people's faces, revealing to Chuck his perfectly groomed classmates and adults from their parents' social circles. They were all in various stages of inebriation, their tight clothes sticking to their sweaty skin and lipstick staining glasses of champagne and vodka shots as they tossed back each drink with the vigor of practiced alcoholics.

Chuck focused his eyes carefully away from where he would have been a year ago. A year ago, he'd been carefree and happy, perfectly glad to be a crowd of people like that. A year ago, he would have been sucking down martinis and scotch with his cohorts instead of alone. A year ago, he would have been throwing his head back in laughter as some random, slutty blond kissed his neck. But now they all seemed so dull, so superficial. Chuck was slipping into a dark hole and it seemed like everyone around him, everyone in his life, was just floating.

* * *

The Colony Club meeting was at one of the women's penthouses. It was a large, airy space, quite similar to the Waldorf's, but everything was delicate and antique. Stiff-backed French chairs, carved wood tables, heavy red velvet vintage curtains. The whole place felt cold and impersonal to Blair as she sat in one of the chairs, legs crossed elegantly as she sipped carefully at a glass of white wine.

The rest of the group – four well-groomed, extremely WASP-y women – were gathered around her in similar poses, their lipstick-stained wineglasses held between manicured fingers and their exactly three-inch heels set into what looked to be an ancient and extremely expensive carpet, probably handed down a line of British royalty or some sort of family heirloom.

Every single thing in the room, in the apartment, on the street, reminded Blair of him. Each way she looked, it was like there was a neon sign pointing to the door, to the direction of the van der Bass apartment, proclaiming, "Chuck needs you!" Needless to say, she hadn't wanted to ignore them, but the best she could do was leave a message for Serena on her way up to the door, telling her to make sure Chuck was okay for one night. It was like he was a child and Blair was his mother, but while she was definitely acting maternal, that really wasn't the point, was it? Who _wouldn't _feel this way if the boy they loved was on a self-destructive circuit, headed straight for hell?

Shaking her worries from her mind with a quick toss of her head and a tilt of her chin, Blair cleared her throat, thinking she would start to make a move on what she was here for, whether her heart was in it or not.

"My mother has recently told me so much about Colony Club, and I feel it exemplifies the highest ideals of what it means to be a New Yorker. And of course, Brooke Astor is a role model of mine." Blair smiled charmingly, her red lips parting to reveal rows of perfect white teeth. The women smiled in return, murmuring their appreciation.

"Ah, yes. Brooke was a shining light," one of them said, and the rest nodded in agreement, bobbing their hairspray-ed heads behind their drinks.

Blair smiled again, but she could tell that it didn't meet her eyes. "I believe in giving back to the city," she said, trying a different route of conversation. "I regularly feed the ducks in Central Park." _Ducks_? What the hell was she talking about? She had fed them _once_, maybe when she was five or six, with Dorota. Besides that, she never went near those ducks.

As Blair's mind wandered, the head Colony woman spoke. "Blair, your achievements are impressive, but for better or for worse, we are defined by the company we keep."

Blair nodded and sipped daintily at her drink. "I couldn't agree more."

The woman narrowed her eyes at Blair. "Tell me, was that Serena van der Woodsen you phoned earlier?"

Blair crossed and uncrossed her legs nervously. She hadn't anticipated poking into her personal life. Did that mean they'd heard about Chuck, too? "Uh, yes, she's an old friend." The statement came off sounding more like a question as Blair's voice slipped at the end. She felt detached and emotionally exhausted. She did not want to be here.

The women traded glances, their eyes flitting back and forth from Blair to each other. Blair gulped.

One of the women shook her head, as if Serena was such a huge disgrace to the Upper East Side. "I see her quite a bit in Page Six."

_Thanks for reminding me_, Blair wanted to say. It had used to be a subject of jealousy between them, the fact that Serena's glowing face and piles of butter blond hair constantly graced the society pages for all the world to see, but it hadn't really mattered too much to Blair lately, not as much as…other things.

"And quite a bit of her." The head woman gestured to her well-concealed cleavage, and the rest of the group tittered with mock-modesty.

Blair could feel her position slipping and spoke quickly to try to regain control. "When I said 'old friend…' that's just habit. I don't…can't approve of how she lives her life." Ugh, she was hating this more and more each second. She and Serena might not have been on the best of terms for a couple months, but they were still best friends. Why was she doing this?

The women murmured again, voicing their approval of Blair's "decision." She could feel the atmosphere shift as the women changed their attention from interviewing her to laughing cattily and being to gossip like teenagers.

"And her mother married _Bart Bass_." The women shook their heads sadly, like their marriage was the saddest thing they'd ever seen. Blair had to take a deep breath. She had good memories of that wedding: her pink floral dress, the beautiful reception, Chuck's best man speech, their dance and their kiss and what came after…

Another bout of laughter shook Blair's senses as the woman continued on. "Talk about crass."

Another woman chuckled. "Bart, or that she married him?"

The head woman took a long sip of wine, not even glancing at Blair, who sat in shocked silence. "That man was all new money and models. He wasn't even original as a cad."

Blair felt her heart crack yet again, feeling for Bart and Chuck and Lily and Serena and their entire family. She was both unpleasantly surprised at their sudden descent into cattiness and angry with herself for actually wanting to, someday, be one of them.

The women continued on, oblivious to Blair's quickly fading smile and that her eyes were opened wide with shock. "I hear that Bass Junior is a piece of work," the head woman said, smirking as she once again put her thin, coral-pink-lipsticked lips around the rim of her wineglass. She took a long, greedy sip and then swallowed noisily, all attempts at politeness left as soon as the gossiping began. "You wouldn't have anything to do with him, would you?" The women all turned their heads to focus their beady, heavily made up eyes on Blair's nervous expression.

Blair's heart sunk to somewhere around her stomach. She opened her mouth, gaping like a dead fish, before closing it, swallowing, and opening it again. Her throat was so dry. It felt like she was being choked. "Well, I…er…I…um…" She had never stuttered or faltered on a couple words more in her entire eighteen years.

The woman glared. "Blair, the answer is no." She sounded like a stern schoolteacher or an angry mother, both of which Blair was not used to being focused at her.

Blair's heart was pounding so heavily in her chest that she was surprised people couldn't hear it across the street. She parted her lips again, letting out air but not a single word. Taking a deep breath, she tried to focus, recompose. Remember that she was hear for herself, not for Bart, not for Lily, not for Serena, and certainly not for Chuck. "Yes, I mean…no…I mean…" Blair stood quickly. There was no way she was going to go through with this. She was _Blair Waldorf_. People did _not _push her around and get away with it. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

The women's faces were now similar to how Blair's had been, taken aback and slightly scared at this sudden show of confidence. The head woman stood to face her, staring straight into Blair's dark eyes. "Excuse me?" She had a look on her face that matched the one that had graced Blair's once before, when little Jenny Humphrey had shown her up at her own sleepover last fall. Blair remembered her exact words (_"No one ever leaves this sleepover!"_) and imagined that syllables resembling those were about to be spit in her direction.

"That 'piece of work' Chuck Bass needs me," Blair said, striding out into the entryway and picking up her coat from where it was left on a small table. "And Serena and her mother are wonderful, kind people."

The women sat in silence, watching as an eighteen-year-old girl called Manhattan's most prominent out on their mistakes. "Blair, do you know what you're _doing_?" Heels clicked from behind her as the head woman (Blair never had gotten her name) followed her to the elevator, her pupils boring their way into the back of Blair's thick wool coat.

Turning back to stare at the group, Blair smiled her trademark fake smile, complete with a raise of her eyebrows and just a slight turn up of her lips. "I thought by coming here, I was leaving high school behind." She shook her head, her sparkling silver headband catching the light. "I guess you never do." With that, Blair stepped into the elevator and shoved at the button marked 'Lobby.'

She was off to a place where she probably wasn't wanted or welcome, but at least she would feel more at home than she did now. Maybe, just maybe, tonight would be the night. Maybe tonight, she'd be able to stop him. To fix him. Maybe their encounter at school was as bad as it would get. Maybe the worst was over.

She should have known then that the worst would be much worse, and it was yet to come.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So just a tiny bit of Chuck, but that's a lead-in to where he's going to be in the next chapter. No Jack in this chapter, but you'll find out more about his indescretions with the Bass fortune soon. Just a couple notes: #1-I know the scene with the Colony Club women was badly written, can you please not give harsh comments on that, because it was difficult to write, being such a contrived scene in the first place? #2-Somewhere in the next two, three, or four chapters, some of the scenes are going to be more intense. That means that it will be harder for you to read and even harder for me to write, so they may take a little longer. Also, if you don't like the direction this story is going, I would consider it best not to keep on reading, because it'll just get worse from here on out. This is my first attempt at a serious fic, and I want it to get as serious as I can make it. #3-This story will (obviously) become AU starting January 5th, but while I will probably take some ideas from the actual episode, I will stick with this plot. Wow, that's a long AN. Anyway, thanks for reading. Thanks to reviewers: Princess Persephone, princeton girl, TheCutie, fizliz23, joliane, MamaFu, bluestriker666, suspensegirl and Piccolo Chic. I didn't get too many reviews last time, but please please PLEASE review. They make my day :)


	9. Frozen Departure

**Title: **When The Devil Can't Save Himself

**Word Count: **n/a yet

**Rating: **PG-13, maybe R at one point

**Warnings/Spoilers: **All of season 1 and aired season 2. **SPECIAL WARNING: **This chapter contains several mentions of suicide and suicide attempts. There aren't many details, but just be cautious if that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable.

**Summary: **Bart Bass. Shot. Dead. Murdered. Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure that he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying.

**Official Disclaimer: **All _Gossip Girl _plots and characters belong to Cecily von Ziegesar, Josh Schwartz and the CW. I do not own the company or the people. The characters featured in this story are not mine.

**Author's Note: **Oh my god, you guys. I'm so so so so so SO sorry it took me forever to update. I've been so busy and I've hardly had time to sit down and write. So much has been going on lately. It's been crazy. But I finally managed to get this written in a night of free time (thank God). I haven't written much of anything since winter break, so I'm a little out of practice and this chapter probably isn't that great. But 2x14 rendered me amazed with the CB epicness and while 2x15 was heartbreaking, I loved that as well. And 2x16 was definitely a turning point for Chuck as a character. I'll be working in a bunch of stuff and plotlines from those eps. Sadly, what I had planned to go down between Jack and Chuck was pretty much the same as what happened in the show (minus the Lily thing), so I'll have to find a way to mix that up a little. But anyway, FINALLY, I present to you the next chapter of "When The Devil Can't Save Himself." Enjoy. :)

* * *

Everything was hazy. The club was thick with pungent cigarette smoke, the lights were low, despite the colorful spotlights dancing on the sweaty, scantily clad bodies of the guests, and the dancers were waving giant, feathered fans in front of their heavily made-up eyes, their heels clacking against the stage and their curves twisting as they gyrated to the music.

Chuck grasped another glass of scotch off of a passing tray and dumped it down his throat, feeling himself swallow the stinging amber liquid and praying it would do something about the pounding somewhere above his eyes and the fact that the entire world was spinning, as if it were closing in on him.

But all the alcohol did was intensify the experience. The pain coming from his head was blinding and the shapes in front of his eyes were blurred together; a head full of wild blonde hair, a pair of brunette twins in tight pink cocktail dresses, men standing on top of the bar with their shirts off, downing tequila shots and shouting to their potential one-night-stands.

Faster…faster…faster. Things began to go dark. There were tiny light spots between the vague cloudiness that covered his pupils, but nothing else. Chuck's throat closed up. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't…

Chuck leaned over, grasping something, or…someone…near him tightly as he heaved in and out a large _whoosh _of air, attempting to get his breath back and some feeling into his legs.

"Chuck?" A voice was echoing far, far above his head. It sounded like it was coming from the ceiling. Wait, no. It was right next to the right side of his face. So loud. Chuck clutched his ear and blinked furiously. Once again, shapes began to swarm around his eyes, swooshing back and forth, every little sound like a hammer to his aching forehead.

But gradually his vision cleared and his burning eyes were met by the clean-cut prep-school-boy face of Eric. Eric van der Woodsen himself, staring at him with a mixture of worry and disgust. Chuck didn't blame him. He must have looked disgusting: exhausted, un-showered, stoned, drugged and drunk off his ass.

"Eric." Chuck tried to state the name with a bite of anger, but instead it rushed out as a drunken, enthusiastic slur. Normally Chuck wasn't a destructive, sloppy drunk like this, he'd left that to Serena since they were about twelve years old and stealing champagne and vodka from their parent's liquor cabinets, but tonight wasn't like any other night. He'd never drunk so much before in his entire seventeen years of partying and debauchery.

Racking his brain, Chuck tried to do a count of all the glasses of miscellaneous alcohol he'd chugged down over the past twenty-four hours, but his mind practically came up with a blank. There was the scotch this morning, that martini sometime around noon, the vodka shots, some whiskey, more shots…how had he gone from that, somewhat of a daily, or at least weekly, routine of his, to…this? Chuck stumbled, bringing himself out of his extremely inebriated thoughts, and Eric held onto his arm.

"Are you okay?" he asked sincerely, staring up at Chuck with those warm, simple brown eyes that seemed to have so much behind them. Chuck momentarily wondered if Eric would understand this. The need to completely numb the pain, to block out every single thought he'd ever felt and ever would feel.

Chuck sighed, swaying slightly on the soles of his dress shoes. One look from his stepbrother and Chuck Bass was suddenly going soft? Oh, hell no.

When he wretched his arm out of Eric's grip and saw the shocked, sad look on his face, Chuck's already shattered heart flooded with guilt. How was it that he was capable of hurting _everyone _without hardly trying? Blair, Eric, his father…just one before the other and one after the other until it was in an endless cycle, where Chuck was always the bad guy, the villain.

He blinked slowly, staring Eric down with a more enigmatic, haunted look than his usual patented smirk. "I think…" He swayed again as he reached for a full, sloshing bottle of golden scotch that was sitting on the edge of the dark wood bar right behind them. "I think I'll take the view from above." He pushed past Eric and headed for the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, his feet slipping against the dark wood that turned into rough metal that turned into concrete, the higher and higher he got. Throwing open the thick, heavy door to the roof, the frozen air hit him hard. Wind gusted in all directions, blowing his dark brown hair into a mess of soft tufts. His jacket whisked back from his body, the bottom flying out behind him like a cape.

Chuck unscrewed the cap of the bottle, tossing it with a shaky arm off of the roof and onto the barely visible street below. He dragged himself up onto the ledge at the very tippy top of the roof, staring down at the darkened, hard, wet alleyway that was so many feet down. So many feet…

Tipping back the glass bottle, Chuck poured half of it into his mouth. His hair was a mess, flying in all directions, his eyes were red, his face was pale, and he was freezing. He felt like king of the world up here.

Until those feelings from before took a hold of him and he realized that, if he really wanted to, it was quite a long way down…

* * *

Back downstairs, Eric stared blankly at the spot where Chuck had stood. He couldn't believe he'd ever had faith in his stepbrother, faith that underneath the rock hard, cold-as-stone façade, he was actually a good person.

Every single drop of what had remained of that glowing hope had been wiped away by the way Chuck had acted just now, the way he'd been acting since Bart died. The endless bottles of alcohol, the vacant expression in his eyes, that fact that he'd reach out for someone (sometimes more literally than others) and _every time_, _every single time_ they got remotely close to him, he would shove them away and the pattern would start all over again.

Damn you, Chuck Bass.

Eric looked to the stairs that he'd just seen Chuck disappear up a couple moments ago. There was a sign beside it, small, discreet, but there nonetheless. He moved closer, his soft brown eyes darting across the wooden label. "Roof." There was an arrow pointing upwards, pointing up those stairs.

Suddenly, things came barreling back into Eric's mind at full force, causing his eyes to cross and his breath to come out in one short gasp, emitting the cool air into the humid, sticky club.

"_I think I'll take the view from above." _ The huge bottle of scotch, filled to the brim with warm, stinging liquid. Chuck's state of total intoxication. That empty look in his eyes…the way you'd stare into them and not be able to pick up on a single emotion, catch a tiny glimpse of human. The roof. The _roof_.

Eric's long months spent holed up in various therapy sessions at the Ostroff Center were finally paying off as a million different scenarios rushed through his head. But Chuck couldn't…he wouldn't…

The memories from the time Eric had tried played themselves back in his mind like a horror movie. All it had taken was loneliness and the feeling of being lost, and soon he was lying on the ground, bright red blood seeping from what were now only lightly traceable scars on his wrists. For Chuck, it was much worse. He'd lost a mother, a father, a stepfamily, friends and Blair, whatever she was/is/had been to him. He'd been drowning in this loneliness for days, weeks, months, years. There was no doubt in Eric's mind that what Chuck was about to do was something he probably wouldn't live to regret. So, within seconds, there were more footsteps, more dress shoes clacking up the stairs, thundering out onto the rooftop.

"Chuck, no!"

* * *

Blair's heels smacked against the pavement as she strode across the dimly lit street to Victrola's entrance. It was in a somewhat remote area, although you would never know it by the amount of town cars and limos pulled up to the entrance. Drunken couples tugged each other onto the black leather seats, slamming the doors to get the full advantage of the heavily tinted windows, and some high school kids she recognized leaned against the brick, wearing cashmere coats and checking Gossip Girl on their touch-screen phones. Chuck was nowhere in sight.

She reached into her purse, pulling out her small silver compact mirror. She tilted her head from side to side, her reflection as cold, hard and perfect as her real features were. Snapping it shut, Blair turned her head upwards for a brief second, intending to inhale a long breath of somewhat clean air before she entered a room that was sure to reek of cigarette smoke and alcohol. But before she could suck the air between her red-lacquered lips, something caught her eye.

Someone was on top of the roof, teetering for balance as he pushed himself up onto the very edge. A heavy bottle dangled from his shaky fingertips and dark hair blew in the wind, blending in with the jet-black sky behind him. Blair's stomach dropped and her breath froze in her throat as she recognized the shirt he was wearing. It was dark, blood red, and combined with his rumpled black suit jacket, the look was both classic and wild.

The figure on the roof was none other than Chuck Bass.

Blair wasn't even sure it was her voice screaming, shouting, echoing in her ears as his feet slipped dangerously close to the edge and Blair found herself dashing into the club and up the stairs as fast as her sleek black heels would carry her.

* * *

She was on top within seconds and staring at him from behind, every regard she had ever had concerning her reputation, poise and the language she used ("Chuck, damn it, stop!" "What the fucking hell are you doing?" "Are you crazy? Get _down_!") flying out the window as the boy she was pretty damn sure she loved stood at the top of a building, about to jump, or at least fall, to his death.

Blair was too busy screaming words of complete insanity to think coherent thoughts or notice the dirty blond, brown-eyed boy that was standing next to her, just as shell-shocked and just as scared as she was.

She was having such an out-of-body experience that when she stepped closer to shout from somewhere nearer to his apparently slightly deaf ears and the hand closed in over her gray-coat-clad arm, she didn't feel it. She didn't feel a thing until the owner of the hand began to speak, coaxing her away from him.

"Blair, calm down." Eric kept his hold on her arm as she watched his face swim into focus. Blair had consumed barely a drop of alcohol all night, but watching this cinematic-like situation, being a part of it, had made her feel even more inebriated than she would have if she had drunk an entire bottle of champagne or done a round of vodka shots. "Screaming at him isn't going to help."

Blair pulled her arm away, his gentle grip feeling like it was burning through the thick wool fabric of her coat. "Are you crazy?" she asked, much louder than was necessary. "Nothing I would ever say could get him down from the edge of that building." She drew in a trembling breath. "If anything, it would push him further off of it."

Both heads turned to look at Chuck, who was walking the edge like one would the plank of a pirate ship, only much more cheerfully. He swayed back and forth, drunkenly humming some song to himself, and every time one of his shoes neared the side of the ledge, Blair would gasp and attempt to move towards him, but Eric held her back.

"Well, we have to do _something_," Eric said, his voice growing increasingly panicked. He stepped a few feet closer to Chuck and pulled Blair along with him. "Just talk to him. Say something. Anything." Chuck leaned his entire body over the side of the building, bending his knees as if to check out the packed street below. Eric drew in a heavy, anxious breath. "Blair, _please_."

"Let go of me!" She insisted in a forceful whisper, her heart pounding frantically as she ran the last few steps to him, cold air stinging her cheeks and her legs through only the thin tights that shielded them from the winter air.

"Chuck!" Blair's voice rang out, carrying over the rooftops and bright lights that spread out across from them. Chuck, finally hearing her, turned and in the process dropped the bottle he'd been clutching, the clear glass and gold liquid smashing and splashing with a faint noise down to the ground, a fairly long distance from where Chuck stood on the edge of the roof.

"Oops…" he muttered absently. Blair's eyes picked up on the fact that his were trying to focus on her face, but they were unruly and out of control, swimming in their sockets.

"Chuck, please listen to me." She stared up at him, her heart slamming in her chest and every bit of her shaking and weak as she waited for his response…or lack thereof.

* * *

Blair's face was blurry in front of him. The alcohol he'd imbibed even just since he'd left the party to come up here was more than most people drank in a year, and it was starting to have quite a negative effect. He was stumbling and his stomach was churning and he couldn't see straight…he couldn't see straight…

"Chuck, please don't do this to me." Her soft, red lips moved as her eyes filled with tears, shining in the reflective New York City lights. Chuck's intoxicated, barely functioning mind was barely able to process what she was saying, and it still struck something deep within him.

"Don't you understand?" A tear dripped down her cheek as she stared into his eyes, stared at his ice-cold, quivering body, and slowly broke his heart. "I'll always be here."

Chuck felt the moisture building up from behind his own eyes as well, and his throat ran dry and tight, causing him to clench his jaw in protest of the stubborn tears that wanted to seep out. He hadn't cried since he was a child, and he wasn't about to start now.

"I want to be here for you, Chuck. Whatever you're going through, I want you to know that I'm going to be here…anywhere…whenever you need me." She stared straight into his coffee eyes; tears streaming freely down her cheeks at this point.

"You won't." Chuck's voice cracked as the words emerged from his throat, the hoarse sound of his tone surprising and scaring him. "You won't be here. Everyone says that, but then they leave." His voice grew louder, bordering on hysteria. He was no longer able to control himself and screamed over the edge of the building. "_They always leave!_"

"Shhh, Chuck." Blair moved closer to him, so that her perfect face was in clear view. Partygoers were starting to glance up from the street, hearing noise and noticing the figures atop of the roof.

"You're going to leave," he struggled to say, an indignant finger wavering as he pointed at her. "Just like you always do." He turned his face towards the cold, harsh breeze and the bright lights of the skyscrapers surrounding them. "Just like everyone does."

It was next to impossible to hold back the tears at this point, and one may have slipped its way out and traced a pattern down his cheek as he faced the city, but no one could see him. No one was watching, and no one even cared.

"Chuck." Blair's voice broke again. "Please believe me. I'm not going anywhere. I will be right beside you for weeks, months…years, Chuck, if that's what it takes. I will." He heard her take in a long, deep breath before the rest of the words left her mouth. "I'll do all of that and more, because…" she stuttered. "…because I love you!"

The words hung in the air, lost and frozen between the two bodies. Two people, hopelessly in love, on the brink of life or death. Two spirits, two minds, living, breathing, thinking separately and differently. But in that moment, they were one. One heart, one soul, one collective sigh of relief as she extended her hand out to him.

Chuck stared at her gloved fingertips, waving up at him, ready to pull him down, ready to save him, to make him whole. He could choose that, the warmth and safety of her hand locked tightly around his, or he could choose…freefall. A quick, easy way out of everything that he had both enjoyed and detested over the years.

A hand clasped a hand as he made his choice, his head of soft dark hair nodding slightly before allowing her to help him carefully off of the ledge. When they were finally on the same level and his feet rested on solid, safe ground, Chuck's eyes bore into hers, riveting his irises straight into the opaque shadows of her big brown eyes. He wondered briefly if she could see the wet line from the single tear that had tracked its way down his pale face, but decided it didn't matter as he grasped her upper arms, burying his face into her jacket.

Blair wrapped an arm around his body, which was quaking with cold. It wasn't a hug, not really. It was just a comfort, something to hold on to in that moment, because he knew that sooner or later, no matter what she said, Blair would be gone. For Chuck Bass, departure, whether it be of a friend, foe or family member, was always imminent.

* * *

**Author's Note: ***gasp* Blair's ILY! Will Chuck say it back? You'll just have to wait and see. :D Anyway, yes, I am well aware that I completely butchered the rooftop scene, but the real one was too much like something I have written for later on in this story. I'm guessing this is going to go on for three or four more chapters. Five at the most, I'm pretty sure. I'm going to be working on the outline, but the next chapter has literally been written in my head for months, so that should be out a lot sooner than this one. Thank you guys so much for all the support I've gotten on this story. It means a lot. Keep reading and reviewing. :) Thanks to reviewers: fizliz23, princetongirl, bookworm455, Kimberly Ramone, .N, suspensegirl, bluestriker666, TheCutie, Piccolo Chic and laxgirl95.

**UP NEXT:** "He had never let anyone touch him like this, like she did. Gently and carefully, hands making their way across soft, wet, slowly heating skin. For the first time in a long time, he felt relief. He felt warmth. He felt happiness." With Chuck and Blair, nothing is simple. A shower, drunken confessions, and cuddling can only lead to disaster with these two.


	10. Soft Spoken and Smiling

**Title: **When The Devil Can't Save Himself

**Word Count: **n/a yet

**Rating: **PG-13, maybe R at one point

**Warnings/Spoilers: **All of season 1 and aired season 2

**Summary: **Bart Bass. Shot. Dead. Murdered. Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying.

**Official Disclaimer: **All _Gossip Girl _plots and characters belong to Cecily von Ziegesar, Josh Schwartz and the CW. I do not own the company or the people. The characters featured in this story are not mine.

**Author's Note: **Here's the next chapter. It's a day or two later than I promised, but it was more difficult to write than I thought it would be. The majority of this chapter is fluff and not much dialogue, but the angst will be back full-force next chapter, as will Jack Bass and his motivations. I promise you'll see more of that. One more thing: there's a lack of Chuck's POV in this chapter for a reason. The entire time, he wasn't really thinking anything through and he was only supposed to realize how afraid he was of being comforted by her at the very end of the chapter. Sorry to those of you who think Chuck's character isn't really growing or changing throughout this story, but I think that's sort of the point and it won't always be the case. Character development and a whole lot of drama is coming. :) Enjoy.

* * *

Chuck's hands were fisted around Blair and Eric's shoulders as they helped him out of the club and towards their waiting limo. The driver looked remarkably unperturbed as they helped an extremely drunk, babbling Chuck through the doors and onto the buttery black leather seats.

He had reached the silly, slurring stage of his intoxication, and had talking been talking nonsensically for the last ten minutes. Apparently, Chuck thought he was upside down, the limo was a spaceship, and Eric was a long-lost cousin. Luckily, he seemed to have retained his memory of Blair, meaning every time he opened his mouth, the words "Blair Bear!" rolled off of his tongue.

Eric seemed to have trouble restraining his laughter, and Blair had to keep glaring at him angrily, although she couldn't help but feel like this extremely out-of-body experience was beginning to border on nighttime-comedy-show funny. People would probably pay to see Chuck Bass chatter like a drunken idiot, so when the trio had passed by the crowds of Constance Billard and St. Jude's students, Blair had shielded his face as best she could. The last thing an already upset Chuck would need when he awoke tomorrow with what was sure to be an extreme hangover would be a post mocking him and his debauchery.

But with Chuck safely in the limo, Blair was free to let her mind focus on other more heart-wrenchingly important topics. Like the fact that she had completely blown any chance she would ever have to become a Manhattan society woman when she was older, and it had been completely worth it. To think about what might have happened if she hadn't gotten there when she did, if Eric hadn't been perceptive enough to realize what Chuck had been considering…Blair wasn't sure she could have lived with _herself _if she had been the cause of all that, if she'd just let it happen.

Chuck needed her, and she needed to stand by him. He would break and fall and push her away, but she had to be there next to him. She'd said the words. She'd promised. And here she was, listening to Chuck mutter on and on about movies, school, their classmates, nonsense.

The sleek black limo pulled away from the curb and the loud burlesque music coming pounding and screeching from inside Victrola, the break from the noise much welcome. The partition between the backseat and the driver rolled down as Eric requested that Arthur take them to the Waldorf place. Blair protested at first, but agreed with his decision after weighing the pros and cons; the van der Bass house might be a little awkward, what with Jack staying in the guest room. He'd made his obvious physical attraction to Blair apparent since he'd brought Chuck home, and Blair was more than a little disgusted and disturbed by that fact. Blair didn't want to leave Chuck alone tonight, and her penthouse contained no one but Dorota.

Chuck's ramblings slowly grew quieter and quieter, beginning to fade off to nothing as he rested a soft, pale cheek against the wool of Blair's gray coat-clad shoulder. It was a display of obvious affection that he had never shown before, and even Eric watched in obvious surprise as Chuck unconsciously reached his hands out, grabbing at the collar of her coat and pulling her closer to his shivering body. His dark eyelashes touched porcelain skin as his eyelids fluttered shut, and despite how absolutely perfect and completely content Blair felt, sitting there with his weight leaning on her and their brunette heads so close together, she shook him off.

"Chuck, stay awake," she urged, patting his smooth cheeks. She had learned from many a drunken night with Serena that keeping the person awake was a better idea in the long run.

"Mmm…" Chuck groaned, rubbing at his eyes like a young child whose alarm had just gone off on an early school morning. "No…" He tried to rest his head on her again, but she moved away.

"You need to stay awake, Chuck." Blair looked at him, eye to half-closed eye. "Keep talking."

"About what?" He was slumped in his seat now, pouting at being denied his beauty rest.

"Anything," Blair encouraged. "Whatever you were talking about before. Just talk about that."

So Chuck resumed his one-sided banter and Blair reached for his hand, loving the way their fingers intertwined, fitting perfectly, the missing pieces of a puzzle that had been sitting in dust and now had finally be found, been put on display. Her shining eyes stared out at the lights of the city; from the bright, flashing colors of Times Square to the luxury shops on Fifth Avenue. More than a few stragglers were making their way past Bergdorf's and Bendel's, designer dresses and thick, stylish coats draped over their tanned and exfoliated frames as they stepped into their waiting black town cars.

And as Blair watched the city, watched the buildings whirl past until they were one, she realized something. Out of all the places in the city, out of all the places in the world, there was no where she'd ever rather be than the back of this limo; whether it was with Chuck sliding off her silk slip as she felt him harden against her, or with a more inebriated, broken version of that same boy, their hands latched together and the smell of scotch on his breath.

Whenever she stepped through that door, slid across the smooth seat, glanced out the tinted windows and turned towards him with love in mind, it felt like coming home.

* * *

When they pulled up to the doors of Blair's building, Eric was kind enough to help her get Chuck out and standing on the concrete, but that was about it. He ducked back into the car before Blair could convince him to stay, and he was gone before the awkwardness she was now experiencing was over. The contentment she'd felt a few minutes ago had faded, and now all she felt was anxious and kind of sad. Chuck probably wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow.

Blair was almost a little afraid to look at him, but every single fear melted away when she met his eyes. They were a liquidy brown; sweet and surrendering.

"Come on," she said, her voice somewhere between a whisper and a maternal coo. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, a position they were now becoming accustomed to, and they walked unsteadily to the door.

Somehow, Blair felt that, with Chuck, she had to make every second count, so she relished those few minutes they spent walking through the marble-floored lobby, stepping into the dark wood elevator and zooming up to the top floor. She treasured the feeling of his body close to hers, of cold skin against scratchy wool, of his wrinkled black pants pressed against her intricately patterned black tights and silken pale legs. She walked slowly, carefully, thinking every second through and making a special place for those memories in her heart.

No matter how hard she tried, Blair knew that from the rooftop to the limo to her bedroom, where they were standing now, she would never forget that night. She was sure that that was night she'd saved Chuck Bass, the night when she finally began to make him whole.

* * *

"Can I sleep now?" An exhausted, slightly cross-eyed Chuck asked for the millionth time, plopping down on Blair's silk comforter.

Blair wrinkled her nose and grabbed both of his hands, pulling him to his feet. He smelled like vodka and scotch, sweat and heavy cologne. A smell that was one-hundred-percent Chuck, but now it was overpowering the room, settling the scent of hard liquor into her delicate silk fabrics and dark wood floors.

"Not now," she insisted. "You need a shower."

"I don't want a shower…" Chuck's voice trailed off as he fell back onto the bed. "Why won't you just let me sleep?" His usually husky voice trilled up to a high whine, and Blair was reminded of the day almost a year ago when they'd helped Serena out during a hungover morning and she'd had almost the same reaction to the thought of bathing.

"Come on…" Blair reached for his hands again, and with a heavy sigh that was a combination of a noise made by an older man and one made by a young child, he stood and followed her into her marble bathroom.

Blair turned on the shower so it was almost scalding hot; Chuck was still shivering in his ice-cold suit, and his cheeks were red and frozen. Then she pulled him gently to her, her tiny hands first gathering the stiff fabric of his jacket and dragging it from his broad shoulders, then fumbling clumsily with the buttons of his deep red shirt.

Piece by piece, she removed his clothing, softly, gently, slowly, until he was standing in front of her in nothing but a pair of dark navy blue boxers. Blair allowed her eyes to run up his body, from his toned calves to the waistband of his underwear, sitting low on his hips. Her chocolate eyes flicked up to pause on his stomach and chest. He wasn't perfectly cut like Nate was, or even muscular like Marcus. He was soft, welcoming. A contrast to his face, which was all dark appeal and sharp, hard angles.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Blair's eyes continued their journey, stopping when she reached his coffee-colored eyes. If he had been slightly more sober, Chuck would have already made some sort of comment about just how very sexy she found him, and he would probably have been right. But for now, she was grateful for the silence, for the quiet, understanding look in his eyes.

Blair pulled off her dress and tights, leaving them in a heap on the floor and leaving her standing in only a slip. She slid off his silk boxers, careful not to let her eyes linger. He didn't seem to mind, just stood there as she undressed him and helped him into the shower.

The hot water pounded on their heads, soaking their hair and temporarily tinting it to a darker hue. Blair reached for a washcloth and some soap, lathering it into the fabric and pressing it to Chuck's collarbone, more than a little surprised when he didn't flinch away. She began to move it slowly down his chest, rubbing the soap into his skin as he leaned against the wall of the shower to keep his balance, his eyes closed and his head tilted up towards the rush of hot water.

* * *

He was relaxed. Standing completely naked in front of a gorgeous, soaking wet Blair Waldorf, whose silky slip clung to every last one of her curves, and he just felt…good. Not aroused or wanting, not insecure or hiding. Just…good. Comfortable. He was at home with her touch, in her arms, as she continued to trace soapy lines onto his chest.

He had never let anyone touch him like this, like she did. Gently and carefully, hands making their way across soft, wet, slowly heating skin. For the first time in a long time, he felt relief. He felt warmth. He felt happiness.

He could stay here, in this shower, in this house, in this moment, forever.

* * *

When her job was done, Blair left Chuck to finish his shower and stepped out, wrapping a plush white towel around her shivering body and padding down the hallway to what was now her mother and Cyrus's room. Rooting through the many drawers in her father's abandoned walk-in closet, she managed to locate a few items he'd neglected to have shipped to France: a pair of soft-looking drawstring pajama pants and a plain white T-shirt that she was sure would fit Chuck comfortably.

When Blair made it back into her bathroom, she didn't see Chuck's dark-haired shadow in the patterned glass shower. Her heart raced with worry. Did he leave? Should she have stayed with him?

Dropping her towel from shaking hands, Blair shoved open the door of the shower, only to find Chuck slumped on the floor, the hot water still pounding a steady beat onto his head. He was half-asleep; exhausted and alone.

Blair's heart rate began to return to normal and she wrapped her arms around his slippery, wet shoulders, pulling him up. His body pressed against hers, and she felt a rush, an electricity, even through her slip. She had to remind herself that he was upset, tired and drunk, and in a few hours he'd probably be cranky and angry and throwing up everywhere. She really had no self-control when it came to Chuck Bass.

She let him dry himself off and slip into the clothes before she led him to her bed. Chuck didn't make a perverted remark or even smirk in her direction; he just gave her a small, thankful smile and lay down, his head sinking into one of her soft, thick pillows.

Blair quickly dried herself off as well, slipping into a pair of black-and-white silk pajamas and wringing out her still-wet brown locks. Sliding between the silk sheets, she lay facing Chuck's back and soft, dark hair. They rested for a few moments, the silence between them both comfortable and heavy, before Chuck spoke. His voice was nearly a whisper, but it rang of uncertainty and sadness.

"Blair?" The way he said her name right then was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard coming off of his lips. That had to be what love sounded like.

"Yeah?" Blair made sure her voice was as quiet and gentle as it could be, the opposite of the voice she used to order around Dorota or her minions, the opposite of the sass she used when around Serena or Dan. This was a voice for him and him only, for times like these; times like when he was near her, shivering even after a hot shower, when he was shaking from unanswered questions and unparalleled grief, when he was lost and needed her to find him and hold him and save him.

"You're going to stay, right?" He sounded like a kid right then, afraid of the dark, afraid of a night of endless possibilities and endless terror. A sober Chuck never would have uttered such words, but a drunk one was the most honest person Blair had ever met. The rich were usually full of secrets, and that was who Chuck usually was; a map of lies and hidden emotions. But now he was open and vulnerable; his face soft and sweet and his posture tense as he waited for her reply.

Blair felt her heart melting as she replied, "I'm going to stay, Chuck. I'll be here. I promised."

She felt him relax, and she wrapped an arm around his body, flinging it across the white cotton of his T-shirt and holding him tightly. She would never let go, if that was what he wanted. She'd hold him like this forever; feel him relax from her touch, almost _cuddle _against her, and let out a shaky breath as his eyes closed and he mumbled his final genuine words of the night.

"You're the best, Blair."

* * *

A slight whistling of wind howled outside the window, and Chuck was startled awake by the low, whooshing sound. The furniture in the room swam in front of his eyes, and his head throbbed so badly it felt as if someone was pounding it in with a jackhammer.

Where _was _he? The overly decorated room, the blue silk comforter thrown over his body, the clothes that clung to his skin…it was all unfamiliar. What had happened last night?

Chuck turned to his right, coming face to face with…Blair. Blair Waldorf was sleeping next to him, wrapped in the silk sheets and soft pajamas, her eyes free of makeup, her cheeks flushed and her hair in a tangled mess on the pillow. She had never looked more beautiful.

Studying Blair's sleeping frame with his half-open eyes, memories came rushing back. Resting his head on her shoulder in the backseat of the limo, Blair and him in the shower as she gently rubbed soap across his body, falling asleep on the bed and snuggling into her waiting arms. The rooftop…she'd said, "I love you." His blood ran cold. She'd finally said the words he'd wanted her to say for months, and he didn't respond. He _couldn't _respond.

Chuck's eyes flicked to Blair's figure again, to her narrow waist and the small smile gracing her lips. His head pounded and his stomach twisted as he considered his options. He could stay here in her arms, warm and comfortable and safe, waking up to the sight of her perfect face. But when the night was over, when the morning was through, what were they to each other? Was he her boyfriend? Her lover? Or just a friend? Where did this night leave them?

He could run now and not look back. He could protect himself from these feelings, whatever they were, whatever they meant to him. He could leave her the way he'd been leaving her forever, and protect her from him. If you love someone, let them go. He was just saving her.

Rolling out of bed, Chuck's headache pounded into the knot in his neck and behind his eyes. He struggled across the dark room, guided only by the city lights streaming through the thick curtains, and dug around in her smooth wood desk until he found a piece of thick cream paper and a pen. His heart was in his throat as he scribbled down the letters, pausing only when the paper was half covered by his messy scrawl.

Not bothering to gather up his things, Chuck set the note carefully on the pillow where his head had been resting, and stared down at Blair once more. From her perfect pink lips to her dark eyelashes to her soft curls, she was beautiful. Perfection and glamour at its finest, even while asleep. She was much better off without him.

Leaning down, Chuck brushed his lips across Blair's smooth forehead. He let them linger for only a second before brushing a stray curl out of her eyes, whispering, "Goodbye, Blair," and disappearing through the bedroom door and into the night.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I hope you liked it and it wasn't too cheesy or repetitive in my choice of words. I literally had a thesaurus sitting by me while I was writing this, and I still had trouble. LOL. Well, anyway, thanks for reading. Thanks to reviewers from last chapter (I'm over a hundred! Thank you guys SO, SO, SO much!): TheCutie, Kimberly Ramone, Princess Persephone, .N, princetongirl, Passenger, bluestriker666, fizliz23 and Suuz112. Love you guys. :)


	11. Stop and Stare

**A/N: **#1: I've decided to shorten my whole big thing before my chapters, because it's not necessary. LOL. #2: Sorry this chapter took a while, but I had to figure out where the story is going and actually outline it. This chapter was supposed to be longer, but it was taking forever to explain everything, so I cut it short of the origional. #3: This was finished on Saturday night, and right when I went to upload it the Login on FanFiction was down. But it's up now, so yay! :D #4: Um...enjoy? I'm not so sure about the writing of this chapter. I wasn't really inspired at all when I was writing this, so it was more of a struggle...okay, just read it.

* * *

The rays of sunlight streaming through Blair's bedroom window met her eyes as she woke in the morning, her long, smooth legs twisted in a pile of silk sheets. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she lazily turned towards the windows and let a hand drift to where Chuck's body had been lying the previous night. But when she reached out, she found nothing. Not the smooth skin of his muscled arms or the softness of his T-shirt. Not even the scent of the soft soap she'd smoothed onto his skin last night remained.

Blair's eyes opened wider at the realization that Chuck was gone, and she sat up in bed quickly, her hands shoving into the pillows where her head had been resting and pushing her upwards. Glancing in the direction of her marble bathroom, she saw neither a closed door nor heard any noise to indicate that Chuck was inside. Her bedroom door was securely shut, the glass knob glinting in the light from the windows. The sheets were pulled tight on his side, she noticed, as her eyes ran from the foot of the bed to the pillow on which he had relaxed his head.

A surge of panic rushed through Blair's veins as she stared the sheet of thick cream-colored paper, embossed with her name and covered with Chuck's messy handwriting. It was set directly in the center of the pillow, perfectly lined up against the ruffled trim and contrasting with the beige silk. She didn't want to look at it. She knew what that letter meant, what it meant that he had left. Last night didn't matter to him. Never to him, and always to her.

Against her better judgment, Blair's graceful fingers pulled the paper from its perch and let her eyes run across the jumble of words.

_Blair, _

_I'm sorry for scaring you at Victrola last night and I'm sorry for making you feel like you had to take me home with you. I just want you to know that you shouldn't feel like you have to do that for me, and it's okay if you didn't mean what you said on the roof. I'll be fine if you want to get on with your life. I'm only holding you back. Staying away from each other for a while will be better for both of us. _

_Last night was a mistake, Blair. I shouldn't have let myself do that. I lost control, and I don't want you to have to deal with that anymore. I care about you; that's why I'm letting you go. I'll miss you. Thanks for everything._

_Chuck_

Blair felt as if her throat was closing. She choked on her sobs as salty tears trailed a path down her cheeks, sticking her eyelashes together and soaking the smooth locks of hair framing her face. She did not understand him. Every time she felt as if they was getting closer, _she _was getting closer, to knowing what was underneath that last layer of skin, he left. He left her every time.

She should have known when he opened himself up to her that it wouldn't last. It was a pattern, terrifying and trembling and angry and destructive; their love minus the softness that came in his rare smiles. Those smiles represented something that she guessed they'd never have again.

Crumbling the paper between her fingertips, Blair used all of her strength to whip it in the direction of the door. "Fuck you, Chuck Bass!" she screeched in an out-of-character burst of emotion. Salty tears stained her face, and she cried until her eyes were red and sore and her breaths were shaky and uncertain. She was sure he was proud now. He had finally succeeded in breaking her.

Turning over in bed, Blair fully intended to bury her head in a pile of pillows and tug her comforter over her mess of dark curls, not to emerge for an undetermined amount of hours. But before she could do so, something caught her eye. The date on her sleek silver alarm clock radio flashed out at her like a red alert. January twelfth. The date she'd triple-circled in purple on her calendar weeks ago, a date that was home to the event she had been fully planning on attending.

The reading of Bart's will was today. Chuck was sure to be absolutely miserable, especially with Jack Bass breathing down his neck about the amount he was going to inherit with the millions Bart had left behind. It wouldn't hurt to be there for him, would it?

Right after she thought it, Blair's whole body tensed. She knew it was a bad idea. The crumpled stationary lying on her dark wood floor by the entrance to her room promised just as much. But she'd sworn that she would always be there, whenever he needed her, and regardless of what that letter said, that was a promise she intended to keep. She had always intended to keep it. Those words meant the world to her, as did he. Not going today would mean the things that she'd said to him never held significance; that they were things she would say again to someone else at some other time.

They weren't. He was the only one.

Shoving herself to the edge of her bed, Blair planted her bare feet on the floor, pushed her curls out of her eyes and marched purposefully to her closet. Once dressed and made-up, her hair hanging in perfect ringlets down her back, Blair grabbed her purse and slipped through the door.

She never was one to give up.

* * *

Chuck leaned back in his chair, inhaling a deep breath of the scent of thick thousand-dollars men's cologne and leather-bound books that swirled around the Bass Industries office. He felt as if he was separated from his body, looking on at this almost-eighteen-year-old ghost of his figure from somewhere up above. Chuck never would have thought that he would be here so soon, looking through hooded eyes at the man that was about to read of his father's final wishes and words. The thought made him feel lightheaded, dizzy and sick. Even while dragging in another deep breath that caused his chest to rise and fall under his starched blue dress shirt, the sensation that the ornately carved dark wood walls were closing on him refused to disappear.

"Now that we're all settled…" One of Bart's many lawyers cleared his throat and leaned forward in his own chair. "Let me express my deepest condolences."

Chuck barely managed to choke back the bile working its way up his throat at the feeling of hearing those words for the millionth time. Didn't people understand that they didn't make anything better? Hearing them was a constant reminder of why he was here, making it impossible to pretend that this was just an ordinary meeting on an ordinary day, after which he would go over to Nate's or Blair's or to Victrola for a drink with one of the glassy-eyed blondes he always used to enjoy pleasuring.

He only had a taste for brunettes now. One in particular, actually.

Even the slightest thought, mention or memory turned Chuck's stomach and brought tears to his eyes. He pushed all things about _her_ to the back of his mind in an attempt to stop the pounding of his insistent headache.

"As Mrs. Bass is unable to be here today, her interests are to be represented by her consult." The lawyer gestured to a petite woman in the leather armchair next to his. Without even making the effort to shift his eyes in his direction, Chuck knew Jack, who was sitting eagerly in the chair next to his, was giving her straight, glossy blond hair and long legs a once-over. Chuck barely glanced her way. He was too busy fuming at yet another thing he was angry over: the fact that Lily was either off with Humphrey's father, her apparent "lover" who she still happened to be seeing, or simply didn't care to make an appearance. Chuck's brain, hungover and probably still addled by the enormous consumption of alcohol that had flooded his blood last night, was unable to figure which one would be worse.

"As for Mr. Bass's personal assets, those will be put into a trust which you, Charles, will inherit on your eighteenth birthday." As much as the thought of finally having full access to the Bass family's billions had excited Chuck in the past, right now it wasn't a cause for celebratory champagne or even a smile. There was too much else wrong in his life that wouldn't be fixed with even the biggest pile of green bills.

The lawyer slid a pair of reading glasses onto his nose and picked up a thick red leather folder, opening it to a crisp white sheet. Chuck could see that Jack was getting impatient as he leaned forward in his chair, drumming his fingers on his thighs. "And as for Bass Industries?" he asked rudely, tilting forward so far that for a moment Chuck was sure he was either going to lip-kiss the man or grab the file out of his hands.

The lawyer looked up at Jack with a hint of a barely-masked surprise. "Yes, I was just getting to that."

Jack smiled insincerely, resting his elbows on his knees and widening his eyes, as if even blinking would cause him to miss the verdict.

"Twenty-nine percent of the company will remain in the board's hands," he began, glancing over at Lily's blond consult to confirm his words. She nodded, a lock of smooth hair falling into her eyes. Neither Jack nor Chuck took notice as she pushed it back seductively, and Chuck's hands shook as the lawyer continued. "And a twenty percent stake in the company has been left to Lily Bass." He shut the folder with an air of completion, and Jack's eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of his chiseled face.

"Okay, but that still leaves fifty-one perfect. _That's _the controlling interest." Jack looked nervous and forceful, but nothing could compare to the thudding of Chuck's heart, pounding perfectly in time with the pain in his head. Reaching up with a trembling hand, he smoothed it through his parted dark hair; wishing he was anywhere else other than here, but not yet having the closure to leave.

"To Charles." The lawyer stared straight at him, and Chuck felt like he was falling. He drew in a sharp intake of breath and barely managed to sputter his next word.

"_What_?"

Jack slammed his fist onto the table, causing everyone to jump and papers to scatter. "That's not possible!" he half-shouted. "_Chuck _isn't even eighteen!"

"He will be in four months," the lawyer responded calmly, restacking the sheets. Chuck watched his hands move rhythmically, distracting himself in an effort to slow his whirling mind. This was not happening. This couldn't be possible. Bart had never trusted him with anything, and now he was handing over the one thing that he had treasured his entire life, more than he'd even treasured Chuck, his only son. It made no sense. Yes, this had to be wrong.

Leaning over the table, Chuck snatched the will out of the lawyer's hands, staring at the typed words. Running his eyes down the page, he confirmed his worst nightmare and greatest triumph. _51% of Bass Industries to Charles Bartholomew Bass. _He dropped the paper from shivering fingertips and fell back into his chair, his head spinning.

Jack was busy shoving back the chair and slamming his shoes onto the floor with an angry clacking noise. "I cannot believe this," he fumed under his breath. "That goddamn _son of a bitch_!" His words grew louder as he turned to stare at Chuck. "Go back to the apartment," he said harshly, forming the words with his mouth and his eyes.

Chuck felt as if he was trapped, and it was becoming even harder to breathe than it had been at the beginning of the meeting. He put a hand to his head and turned slowly, Jack's shouts slashing at what was left of his heart.

"Wait, Charles!" Lily's consult was holding a thick cream envelope in her hand, matching her French-manicured nails. Chuck turned back quickly, ready to grab the thing and run the hell out of there before Jack gave him his second black eye, but he stopped at her words. "Your father wanted us to give you this letter."

Chuck's breath caught in his throat and he choked on the air. "What?" he asked, his voice softer and raspier than it had been previously.

"A letter. From your father." The blonde's eyes widened with obvious pity at the grieving boy who had just lost his father, standing in front of her with a twist in his mouth and the worst combination of surprise and sadness in his eyes.

The death glares that Jack was firing from his eyes felt as if they were lasering into Chuck's cheekbones and tearing at his chest. The confusion and pain overwhelming him were so powerful that he didn't take the time to let the entire situation sink in. Instead, he snatched the letter from the women's hands and, with only a halfhearted nod in the lawyer's direction, hurled himself through the doors.

* * *

Blair's glossy cherry-red heel fidgeted on the carpeted floor, her slender back leaning up against a uncomfortable modern navy-and-silver chair. Her legs were crossed at the knee and her manicured fingernails tapped anxiously on the arm of the chair. Blair was not used to being told to "please wait here," so the secretary's request had served to both annoy the hell out of her and increase her nervousness quite a bit. She could hear voices from inside the office, hushed and business-like, and she wondered what was going on, what they were talking about…how he felt.

She wished more than anything that she could be sitting next to him in that moment, his hand cupped in hers as she comforted him. But that was just a fantasy. It always would be, because Chuck and Blair were more crash-and-burn. Self-destructive, self-loathing, narcissistic. The idea of him finding comfort in her light, familiar touch felt so far away, although he had done just that the previous night. Or so she had thought.

All of a sudden, the dark door to the office banged open, and a distressed-looking Chuck rushed out. An envelope was clutched in his clammy palms and he was slightly out of breath, like he'd been doing sprints up and down the length of the room. Blair automatically stood, yet leaned awkwardly against the side of the chair as her eyes tracked his movements, tracing them into patterns of being.

She memorized every inch of him; polished shoes to disheveled hair, clenched fists to wet eyes. He wore a red silk tie with his blue dress shirt, the ensemble covered by a gray jacket and complimented by gray wool slacks. There was a strange look in his eyes: curious yet uncertain, violently angry but terrifyingly upset. All Blair wanted in that moment was to be able to talk to him, to sit down and speak for real, for him to part his lips and tell her what he was really thinking. This guessing game: the analyzing, the suspecting, the perceptions, was taking a toll on her exhausted mind. She was sure she couldn't do this anymore and that she shouldn't, but her heart wouldn't let go of him.

* * *

The heavy door slammed on the wall to the right of it as he threw it open, the carvings sure to dent or scratch the butter-yellow paint. But Chuck didn't give a shit. He had to get out of there, _now_. Preferably to somewhere far, far away, although he would settle for Victrola and his favorite spot on the couch, armed with scotch on the rocks and a curvy exotic dancer.

But before Chuck could make it much further, he saw the last thing he wanted to see. Make that the last _person_ he ever expectedto see here.

Her. _Her_. Blair Waldorf was standing in front of him, balancing against a chair in her stilettos, looking unbelievably sexy in a slim black pencil skirt and gray tights. There was something so beautiful about her in that moment, something sobering and frightening and blinding and sensuous. It was like a dream he'd only let himself indulge in during their happiest moments, a dream that someday he'd be here in this same building, sitting behind a giant mahogany desk just like his father's. And there would be Blair, perched on the edge of his leather chair, dressed in those perfectly conservative clothes that made him want to rip them off. They would steal kisses in between sections of paperwork, and afterwards they'd go out for drinks and finish the night tangled in the silk sheets of _their_ bed, coated in a silky sheen of sweat and sex.

It was safe to say that sometimes he dreamed that he would make her his wife.

Well, not _safe_. Because as that very girl, that very beautiful _women_, stood in front of him right then, he felt nothing but pain. A relationship couldn't be build of games and manipulations and lies. There was no future for them in the least.

Chuck's head pounded harder and the room spun him into a fit of dizziness, causing him to unconsciously clutch back at the door, his knees buckling. He was sure he couldn't do this anymore and that he shouldn't, but his heart wouldn't let go of her.

* * *

And there they stood. Two lovers lonely, two lovers lost. Two lovers angry, two lovers cursed. Two lovers loving through the excruciating sorrow, the constant jabs to the heart. Two lovers needing to decide: stay or go. Leave or remain. Exit the premises or enter the unknown.

Two lovers with a choice.

Chuck's eyes connected with Blair's, the passion and fire in them sending jolts down her spine. She was almost sure; this was it, this was the moment. But he tipped his chin towards the ground. Lowered it and moved forward, his head down as he walked slowly to the elevator, stepping inside, turning and meeting her eyes for one last lingering look. The pure misery lingering in his irises struck her heart, and she felt her entire body seemingly deflate as the doors slid closed.

Two lovers who love together and apart. Two lovers whose desires are never dissolved or broken, not cracked or tarnished. Two lovers who could be separated by mountains and oceans and deserts and miles of highway or fractured sidewalk and still feel the fire of each other's touches.

Two lovers who have, once again, made their choice.

* * *

**A/N: **Not really a cliffhanger this time, but if the next chapter pans out right, there will be a huge one that will basically be the climax of the story. Thank you so much for reading. I love that people are still following this story despite my mediocre writing. :P **Thanks to reviewers from last time: malfoyie456, chair4eva, fizliz23, bookworm455, Princess Persephone, bluestriker666, princetongirl, TheCutie **and** Kimberly Ramone. **Please keep reading and reviewing! Love you guys :)


	12. Running Into Himself

**A/N: **I'M BACK! I can't believe I haven't updated this story in over a month. I'm so, so sorry. I've been ridiculously busy, as well as sick, like, three times, and now I'm on a spring break vacation in Mexico and it took me about a week to write the last two parts of this chapter, considering I had like no time to write. But I promised myself I'd get this up by the end of the weekend, and this is pretty close, right? :) As for the thing that happens at the end of the chapter (being as vague as I can), I really wanted to build up to it more, but there really wasn't much else I could do to show his emotion during that scene. The basic point is, he's lost everything and he isn't sure what to do with himself. Up until now he always had one thing going for him, but now he's lost it all. I've tried to show Chuck slowly loosing it throughout the story. :P Oh, and about the Jack thing, I TOTALLY had that idea before the show, so I decided to use it anyway, only slightly changed. And no Blair this chapter, but she'll be back. I think there's going to be one more chapter left to this, plus an epilogue, but we'll see. Enjoy!

**SPECIAL WARNING: **This chapter contains several mentions of suicide and suicide attempts. There aren't many details, but just be cautious if that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable.

**NOTE: **I added a quote from _Breakfast At Tiffany's_, which I just recently saw for the first time (and loved, obviously). I thought it sort of echoed this chapter a tiny bit, that Chuck is running away from himself but can't seem to escape it...? I don't know, maybe I just like the quote. But I named the chapter after it, so... :D

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* * *

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_"You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-You-Are? You're chicken. You've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, 'Okay life's a fact. People do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness.' You call yourself a free spirit, a wild thing, and you're terrified somebody's going to stick you in a cage. Well, baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somaliland. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself."_

- Breakfast At Tiffany's

Sliding back onto the cream-colored, ultramodern-but-surprisingly-comfortable couch in the van der Bass penthouse, Chuck cradled yet another tumbler of scotch in his palm. He twirled it between his fingertips, watching the amber liquid splash up against the side of the heavy glass. He had been drinking all afternoon, but his head was still infuriatingly clear. Damn the incredible drinking tolerance he'd perfected over the years. Lately, Chuck had been wishing he was more of a lightweight like Serena, able to be deliriously excited and completely out of it after only a brightly colored cocktail, a few miniature vodka shots or simply a glass of the incredibly expensive amber liquid he was drinking now. Sadly, that didn't seem to work for him.

It would have been useful right about then, though. Chuck was trying desperately to forget about everything that had happened that morning, but it still echoed shrilly in his mind: Jack's shouts; that tingly, stomach-dropping, nervous feeling that had shot from his toes to the top of his brunette head at the news he was now CEO of one of the most esteemed multi-billion-dollar companies in the world; the look Blair had given him when he'd passed her outside of the office and the one he'd given back. Hers was a gaze of incredible longing and it sucked him in, tearing his heart into pieces as the elevator doors slid slowly closed in front of him. Separated, again. Would they ever find their way back to each other?

With the way he'd been acting lately, he kind of doubted it.

But yet, he couldn't seem to stop. The pain, the aching grief from his father's death, still weighed him down in everything he did. Sometimes he would wake up after another long night of debauchery, the fat rays of yellow sunlight streaming through the windows and thick curtains, and have that simple feeling of blissful peace…until reality set in. It hurt more every day. Instead of healing over time, Chuck's agony kept growing worse.

And that required more and more scotch.

As Chuck refilled his glass, he heard the elevator doors slide open and the sudden sound of shoes on the floor. A pair of black-wool-pant-clad legs appeared around the corner, followed by a long black wool coat, a pastel dress shirt and then Jack's head, a smirk twisting his lips and his hair perfectly combed. He looked calm and collected, not like he'd just had a screaming fit in a meeting a few hours prior.

"Chuck!" Jack's smirk grew wider at the sight of his nephew lounging back against a couch, twirling a tumbler of sparkling liquid in one hand, the other hanging loosely over the edge, his fingertips trailing on the soft, carpeted floor.

"Jack." Chuck struggled to sit up, almost dropping his glass in the process. He narrowed his red-rimmed eyes. "What do you want?"

Jack shrugged as he walked over to Chuck's place, pursing his lips in that indecisive, casual way that only Basses can. "Well, I am staying here now. I just thought I would see if you wanted to…"

"Get out," Chuck interrupted, his rough voice rising slightly and his blood boiling. He felt as if everyone was manipulating him all of a sudden, that everyone was conspiring to make his life hell.

Jack's face wrinkled with a mask of genuine confusion. "What? I…"

"No, get out. You're going to blame me for something I can't control? Then leave." Chuck smacked his scotch down on the glass coffee table with a bang. "Maybe I don't even want Bass Industries! Maybe I'd rather they just give it to you and be done with it! That's the way it's supposed to be, isn't it? I'll just get my money and go off and party like the stupid, unworthy teenager I am, and you'll be here running the company." Chuck's angry shouts grew louder as he stood up, facing Jack as he spat the last words. "If you want it, you can have it."

Jack shook his head, stepping backwards slightly. "Chuck, the real reason I came back here was to apologize. I really am sorry for this morning."

Chuck eyed him doubtfully, scooping up his scotch to take another long swig. It was hard to believe that Jack could change gears so swiftly, but maybe he'd had some time to calm down. Chuck started to regret his outburst, rethinking his shouted decision to give the company to Jack. A decision he hadn't even thought through. Maybe he did want it. There had to be something he'd done that had shown his father that he had potential. Was the Victrola project or his courting of the Brooklyn Inn bar? Did it even matter? Maybe he'd even be good at running a business. He had always had an eye for numbers.

Jack continued his little speech. "You're Bart's son. It is your rightful place. If you running the company is what Bart wanted, I don't think we should deny him his wishes, should we?"

Chuck shook his head slowly, absorbing this information with a small smile on his face. His stomach jumped with the joy of a victory, finally, _finally_, after what seemed like an eternity of losses.

Jack reached forward and clapped a large hand on Chuck's shoulder, shaking him slightly with the force of the movement. "So, what do you say we go out tonight? You know, to celebrate your new position as CEO?"

Chuck sighed, staring down at the glass in his hand. He suddenly felt very tired, and he kind of just wanted to curl up under his Egyptian-cotton sheets and soft, worn duvet and sleep away any negative thoughts he was having. "I don't know," he answered finally. "I think it would probably be best if I stayed. Tomorrow's a Monday, and I'll probably need to go into the office and see if I can get some help getting started." A small smile graced Chuck's lips as the words rolled off them. He felt so professional saying that: older, confident, responsible. Not like a seventeen-year-old screw-up and semi-alcoholic playboy whom everyone, probably including the girl he loved, detested beyond belief.

Jack let out a low, throaty laugh and shook his head, wrapping an arm around Chuck's shoulders and leading him forward. "Nonsense. And besides, I invited some friends that I don't think you'll want to miss out on…"

Just then, the elevator _ding_ed again and the sound of high heels echoed where Jack's polished black shoes had just been. A group of girls rounded the corner, their lip gloss glinting in the jewel-like city lights that sparkled outside the large windows. Their curvy, long-legged figures were draped in tiny silk cocktail dresses in shades of gold, silver and ruby red; their feet were tucked into glistening stilettos; and luxurious fur coats shielded their body from the cold air outside. They were completely slutty and trashy and probably dumb as hell, but they were exactly what Chuck needed.

Seeing the kid-in-a-candy-store look upon Chuck's face, Jack put a hand on his shoulder and led him outside, pausing only to grab him a long gray coat from the closet and slip his own sleek cell phone into his pocket.

* * *

Leaning back, Chuck tipped his martini glass, pouring yet another clear, limey vodka cocktail down his throat. It wasn't nearly as strong as the vintage scotch he usually drank, but it was the only kind that made him blissfully drunk, instead of just feeling lonely and depressed. The lightheaded, room-spinning feeling reminded him of when he was younger and he, Nate, Serena and…and Blair…would bribe the bartenders at the Palace to serve them martinis or sneak alcohol from their parents liquor cabinets and drink it on the roof of one of their apartment buildings. It was probably around then that Chuck had gained his fondness for rooftops. Those were good memories. He wasn't sure if things would ever be that good again.

He drained another glass, smacking it down on the table as his head began to, _finally_, spin and intoxication overcame him.

One of the girls (or models or actresses or prostitutes, you could never be sure with Jack) leaned over from where she was perching on the long, glossy black bar in the downtown hotel suite Jack had reserved for the night. Her long, tanned, curvy legs were draped partway across his lap and her dress was so low-cut, he could see down it without hardly looking. This all put a drunkenly happy smile on his face as the girl carefully slid down onto his lap, beginning to kiss his neck.

Two of the girls were attending to Jack, straddling his lap and taking turns leaving traces of shining red lip gloss down his collarbone as they unbuckled his belt. Even in his inebriated state, Chuck had to turn away in disgust before he saw more of his uncle than he ever wanted to see.

But then a few more girls came over to Chuck and were suddenly all around him, the musky smell of their perfume trailing in the air. He didn't know if these were the girls they came with or others, and he didn't really care. He let them kiss him, let them drop his silk tie to the polished black marble floor, let them unbutton his shirt with their long, Chanel-bright-red-polish-lacquered fingers and let himself forget everything and everyone and lose himself in the pleasure that he hadn't had in what felt like forever.

And at just the right moment, Jack was there to slid his cell phone out of his pocket, flip it open, and take several rapid-fire shots. _Send_.

* * *

Chuck was in somewhat of a good mood the next morning. The insistent hangover that had persisted since his father's death was finally beginning to subside, despite how much he'd had the drink the previous night. Apparently, after over a month of drinking nothing but extremely strong, burning scotch or whiskey and doing hard, dangerous drugs, his body wasn't even reacting to the less harmful things he'd ingested last night.

He hadn't slept well, though. When the Bass limo had brought Chuck and Jack back to the penthouse, he'd been exhausted. But after undressing (for the second time that evening) and sliding between his Egyptian cotton sheets and soft duvet, he couldn't seem to make sleep come. Maybe it was the fact that, about twenty-four hours prior, he'd been lying between Blair's silk sheets, wrapped in her father's pajamas and just…all of her. He could still smell the scent of her rose perfume and vanilla sugar shampoo lingering on his skin, and he hated it. He really did. He hated the fact that he hadn't been able to sleep because she wasn't next to him, comforting him. He hated that every time he opened his eyes in the morning, he was secretly praying that her head of thick, dark curls would be resting next to his on the pillow. And most of all, he hated the fact that he missed her. A lot.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he allowed himself a smile at the Bass Industries receptionist as he headed to the elevator. His father's office and those of his closest assistants and employees took up an entire floor, and he'd had the number memorized since he was barely able to walk.

When Chuck opened the thick, ornately carved dark wood doors to his father's huge office, he was surprised to see Jack sitting behind his father's, no, _his_ desk. The late morning sunlight glinted through the wide windows, facing the bustling city streets and illuminating the Jack's dark brown hair to a lighter gold. He was going through paperwork, scribbling on sheet upon sheet of thick, cream-colored paper and tucking each carefully-typed piece into a selection of beige file folders.

Suspicion and anger crept into Chuck's bones as he watched his uncle work, and his next word came off his lips with a tremor of anger and a tremble of fear. "Jack?"

Looking up at his nephew, Jack continued to busy his hands with his work. The look in his eyes was knowing yet innocent, like he had a secret that he was taking great pleasure in keeping from him. "Chuck." He smiled a close-lipped, incredibly fake smile as he set the last folder on top of the pile and pushed back the large, gold-and-Italian-leather chair, resting his feet on the dark brown desk. "What can I do for you?"

"What are you doing in my chair?" Chuck edged closer to the desk, staring Jack down with his infamous look. Never mind how strange it was to call the antique leather desk chair that his father had sat in practically ever since the company had made enough money for its Wall Street address _his_…the feel, even the smell, of being in his father's office began to make Chuck feel strange, almost ill. It was just too familiar…too much Bart's…

Jack cleared his throat and stood up, the bottom of his dark navy suit jacket just skimming the tabletop as he moved towards where Chuck was rooted in place. "You didn't get my calls?"

"What calls?" Chuck fished around in his pockets for his touch-screen phone, but came up empty. He must have left it at the apartment. He had been sure it was turned on last night, when he'd last seen it, though. Chuck suddenly felt a sneaking suspicion that Jack hadn't called and wanted him to show up at the office so he could rub something in his face. The question was _what_?

Jack shook his head, dismissing the question, and his smirk grew wider. Grinning stupidly, he pulled out his own phone from his pocket and tossed it to Chuck. "It's not your chair anymore, kid."

Chuck felt the blood drain from his already-pale face and his hands shook violently as he gripped Jack's cell. "What are you talking about? What's going on?" It seemed like the only words out of his mouth this morning were questions. _Who, what, when, where, why_? What the fuck was happening?

"You should have read the fine print." Jack pulled out a printer-paper copy of Bart's will from the top file folder and let his dark-brown-lashed eyes flick over it. "It specifies that should you in any way act inappropriately, the board has the option to replace you." He looked up, meeting Chuck's shocked almost black eyes with a haughty, mischievous smile. "And they picked me."

Chuck's throat closed achingly tight and his stomach churned reflexively. He couldn't seem to find his voice to speak and instead felt his whole body trembling. He looked down at his hands and saw they were stark white. Clearing his throat, he choked out, "What did I do?"

Jack smirked again. "You even have to ask?" He gestured to the phone clutched in Chuck's sweaty palm and he reluctantly flipped it open, almost scared of what was going to appear.

And his pretense was correct, because the photos inside _were _downright scary. They were risqué and wild and disgusting, worse than the photos he'd gotten of the Skull and Bones kids back in the fall and weirder than any messed up porn he'd ever seen, because they were of _him_.

There was Chuck with his head thrown back; draining a martini glass while a curvy girl with wild bleach-blond waves kissed his neck. Chuck with his pants around his ankles, straddled by two exotic, stick-thin models wearing nothing but red silk-and-lace underwear and dark lipstick. Chuck feeding several scantily clad girls chocolate-covered strawberries on a hotel's plush Egyptian cotton duvet. And then there were more revealing shots of him in various states of undress, sexual ecstasy, and complete inebriation. It was clear that Jack had continued taking pictures well into the night.

Apparently, it didn't matter to the board that his uncle had been in the same place, doing the same things. He was a consenting adult, and Chuck was just a messed up kid.

Choking up, Chuck violently whipped the phone in Jack's general direction. He felt sick and tired and upset and lost and scared, but also incredibly guilty, like he was letting his father down. He wanted to throw himself down on the soft carpeting at Jack's feet, sobbing and begging for forgiveness and a second chance, but that wasn't his style. He was Chuck Bass. Life just _worked out_ for him, or so it seemed. Little did anyone know, he'd always kept the dangerous thoughts and feelings inside. No one knew what Chuck was really thinking, and combined with the copious amounts of alcohol and drugs he had access to, it was a particularly deadly combination.

* * *

Slamming open the white-painted door to Palace Hotel Suite 1812, Chuck threw his coat in the general direction of the luxurious, silk-duvet-covered bed and kicked his shoes off onto the plush carpet. His eyes were watering, and he knew it wasn't from the cold wind that whipped about the tall green trees in Central Park. He had spent the afternoon in a dirty dive bar in Brooklyn, trying (and failing) to get drunk on gross warm beer in a place where no one would recognize him, and now a steady pouring of rain pattered against the large glass windows. Chuck shoved the thick velvet curtains over them to shield his eyes from the cold, dark, vacant expanse of the city. It was strange how the weather changed with his mood. In the morning, when he'd been happy and feeling light on his feet, the sun had poured through the windows and the air had been crisp and cool. Now it was foggy and wet, with dark clouds looming above the city's buildings in an ominous fashion.

The reason why Chuck had come here rather than gone back to the contemporary-style penthouse apartment he now somewhat tentatively called home was because he wanted to be alone. He didn't want the shadow of Lily's thin, blonde figure hovering over him, wondering if he was all right and offering him tea or ice cream or whatever. He didn't want Serena's voice to echo through the walls as she talked on the phone and flipped through a glossy fashion magazine. He didn't want Eric, _especially _not Eric, because Eric would know exactly what to say to stop him. And Chuck didn't want to be stopped.

Opening one of the dark wood cabinets under the bar, Chuck pulled out an unopened bottle of scotch, the strongest he had. From a small drawer he pulled the little amber-tinted container, filled with tiny, bright white pills. Sliding onto a dark leather stool, he began to count them out onto a quivering palm. _One, two, three_…oh, the hell with it. He shook it again and several more fell out onto his hand, contrasting only slightly with his pale skin.

Chuck stared down at the tablets on his hand without a bit of fear. He had lost everything, everyone. Everything he thought he could live without, thought he didn't need, _wished _he didn't need. The company was Jack's and Chuck didn't have the chance to prove that he was every bit his father's son and completely capable of holding onto his legacy. Nate had never really cared about him. Well, he must have at some point, but he'd been to distracted lately to have it really matter at all what Chuck did. He was sure Eric had grown tired of his problems, complaints and grievances over the last few months, and Serena had really only tolerated him anyway.

Blair…Blair was no longer his either. He was sure she hated him, hated everything he done to hurt, every way he'd hurt her and broken her heart. And his father, who had always hated him and was always disappointed in him from the day he was born, was dead. That was the final straw, the pain pushing him to close his eyes tightly as wet, salty tears poured their way down his cheeks. It was the pain pushing him to crack open the bottle of scotch. It was the pain pushing him to toss the pills into his waiting mouth and follow them with a long swig straight from the bottle.

He didn't want to die, not really.

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**A/N: **Okay, because I know I'm going to get asked, I'll tell you one thing: Chuck is not dead. I know that totally ruined the shock factor of that last line, but I figure it had to be said. I'll let you guess about what sort of state he's in, though. I never said he was perfectly fine. :P Also, about the style I'm writing this, I know it's going to come up eventually that I'm really descriptive, and my sentences are, like, extremely long, because of that. But I won't change that, because I think that's what makes my writing a little unique. I write it how I want to read it, and that is with lots of detail. :) **Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time: bookworm455, AAnnieN, fizliz23, Doxeh, joliane, Princess Persephone, princetongirl, samhaincat, TheCutie, Kimberly Ramone, malfoyie456, WolfGirl1618, Suuz112 **and **bluestriker666. **I hope you all haven't forgotten about me and will keep the reviews coming. :)


	13. Fix You

**A/N: **I did it! I'm so, so, so, so, sooooo sorry. This took forever, and I know that. I just did not feel inspired to write for a really long time, and once I did, it got super long and then I had to edit it and then I didn't like a whole bunch so I started over... *sigh* Plus, I was really, really sick a couple weeks ago and I just got over that, so here it is! I worked really, really hard on this chapter, and it's long to make up for how long it took to write. :) I hope you guys really like it. Enjoy. :D

**NOTE: **The song I quoted is "Fix You" by Coldplay, and I really reccomend reading it during the (spoiler) Chuck/Blair hug scene, since I listened to that while I was writing it and it's basically what the scene was based on. :) I'm sorry if you think the lyrics break up the flow or whatever, but I couldn't not put them in.

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_"When you try your best, but you don't succeed; when you get what you want, but not what you need; when you're so tired but you can't sleep. Stuck in reverse." _

Voices. All he could hear were voices. They sounded faint and far-off, the only distinctions being between man and woman. There were bright fluorescent lights, too, beating down on his closed eyelids and forcing them to flutter open. There was white everyone, covering every surface, so much white, and his entire body ached inexplicably.

Things slowly came into focus, making Chuck strangely dizzy. His stomach was roiling and his throat felt rough, like it had been rubbed with sandpaper and he was denied water. It was becoming a familiar feeling, but this was taking it to the extreme. The sheets pulled over his body were starched and firm, and when he turned to the side and looked down, there was a hard, cold linoleum floor staring back at him.

"Chuck?" He heard Lily's voice echo from the corner of the room, and he set his blurry eyes on the image of her standing up in her very un-mom-like skinny pants and just-off-the-runway zippered ankle boots, flipping her cell phone closed and tucking it into her oversized leather purse. "Doctor, I think he's awake."

Chuck opened his eyes even wider, taking in the scene. He was lying in a hospital bed in a private room. Lily, Serena and Eric were seated on the smooth vinyl couches and chairs that were collected at the edge of the room, near a large, sunny window not yet shaded by the thick, shiny tarp-like curtains that surrounded it. Noticeably present was Jack, but Chuck didn't want him there anyway. And Blair…where was Blair? His head was pounding so heavily that he was almost cross-eyed, and his stomach felt completely empty, yet he was still nauseous. How was that possible?

Memories of the last night came flooding back to him. He remembered the tinted glass bottles and the tiny white pills and the burn in his throat as he swallowed them all. He remembered the path of the silent tears trickling down his cheeks. They had been just water…no emotion. He had felt everything for one painful, searing moment…and then nothing. Nothing then, nothing now…except for the obvious side effects of his little accidental adventure into prescription drugs, which really hadn't been so much of an accident as a necessity. Maybe it was a bad escape. There were a thousand other ways to do what he'd been trying to; he just hadn't thought of them at the time.

The doctor made his way over to Chuck's bed, holding a clipboard. "Mr. Bass?" he said, holding out a hand. Chuck was too weak to grab it, and instead moved his heavy head up and down in a pitiful nod. "Do you remember what happened to you last night?"

Chuck managed to move his head again. The exact details were fuzzy, but he remembered the how and why of the situation clearly. Blair, Jack, Bass Industries…the reason why he'd taken the pills in the first place was to forget. Why did he still remember? He didn't _want _to remember.

But the biggest surprise of all was that he felt numb. And it wasn't his body, because his aching head, churning stomach and limbs that felt like they had been filled with lead accounted for much of his discomfort, but his entire being. His heart was heavy and his eyes tired, but he just didn't _care_. It felt like he'd woken up without purpose. Nothing mattered to him anymore.

The doctor was talking, writing on a clipboard as Chuck answered his simple questions with mechanical answers. _How was he feeling, what hurt, what had he taken, did he want to take part in the therapy class offered to overdose patients? _(Definitely not).When the doctor left, Chuck stared over to the other side of the room. Lily had left with the doctor, but the other two of his visitors were watching intently, still in last night's clothing: suits and cocktail dresses from whatever Upper East Side soiree they'd had to leave to come here. He wished they weren't here, but he was glad that they were. No, that didn't make any sense. He wasn't sure what he wanted anymore. Sleep, maybe. Water. As Chuck's mind forced itself to focus on material items, things that could be easily obtained, it kept coming back to Blair.

As if reading his mind, Serena spoke softly, pushing a few strands of her tangled buttery blond waves out of her makeup-smeared eyes. It was obvious that she'd spent the night here, and Chuck felt the tiniest bit grateful for a second, low in the pit of his stomach. "Blair's outside in the waiting room. We didn't know if you'd want her here, so…" Before Serena could finish her sentence, she noticed Chuck's muscles tightening into fists and his jaw clenching, the obvious signs that he was upset. "Do you want me to go get her?" Serena asked, already halfway off her seat on an uncomfortable light wood chair, tottering on her sky-high black Manolos as she waited for Chuck's answer.

His brain tried to form around her words. Blair was here. She'd come for him, come to see him. The thought of her being next to him, holding his hand, slowing stroking his hair like she'd done at his father's funeral so many months ago, made him feel weak and childish, but he still wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. So he shook his head and rasped, "Tell her…tell her that I don't want to see her. Now or ever."

Serena's face hardened, and he saw tears glimmering in her darkly-lined eyes. Eric looked on in shocked silence, his young face twisted in confusion. "Chuck, she doesn't deserve that."

Chuck didn't answer. He turned his face into his pillow to stop of the onset of tears and continued to lie like that. It muffled their voices, their concern for both him and Blair. Chuck didn't care to hear it.

Chuck felt a hand on his back: Eric's. He flinched away and almost shouted hoarsely, "Don't _touch _me!" but he couldn't seem to find the energy to do it. Instead he lay there, closing his tired dark brown eyes and pretending to sleep. Maybe if he were still, they'd go away. Maybe everything would go away.

* * *

Chuck carefully dug his hands into his soft, worn cotton sheets and pushed himself upright, shoving off the comforting gray-and-purple duvet in favor of the slightly cold air of his bedroom against his flannel-pajamas-clad legs. He swung his legs around and was about to place his feet on the dark purple-carpeted floor to go in search of another cold bottle of water. His stomach was acting up, and water seemed to be the only thing that would settle it. But just then, the glossy wooden door to his bedroom opened and Serena stepped in.

She had obviously cleaned up since their encounter this morning, and now she wore a short, form-fitting cream-colored cashmere dress paired with tights and some sort of wrinkled baby blue jacket. Her hair fell in its usual waves down her slim back, gold bangles jingled on her wrists, and her face was clouded with worry.

"Don't move, I'll get that for you," she said quickly, grabbing the empty bottle out of Chuck's hand and turning towards the door again, her beige stiletto heels barely making a sound on the thin carpet, but her bracelets clanking together on her thin wrists. "The doctor said you could only go home if you would _rest_."

Chuck wanted to protest that he _was _resting, but he couldn't seem to find the energy. He was grateful though, because his legs felt weak and shaky and he was so nauseous that he wasn't sure that he could have made it all the way to the fridge in the kitchen anyway.

Serena returned with a cold bottle of mineral water. Chuck took it gratefully, unscrewing the cap and letting the freezing liquid coat his sore throat and calm his stomach. He lay back against the striped cushioned headboard of his bed, trying to breath deeply. The doctor had forbidden him from taking any sort of medication for the next few days, because he was afraid that it might create some strange kind of reaction with the drugs that Chuck still had in his system, so Chuck's pounding migraine, upset stomach and dry throat were left to heal the natural way.

Serena perched on the side of his bed. "So…" she began, running her hands nervously through her thick blond waves. Chuck didn't look at her, just kept fiddling with the bottle of water in his jittery hands. "How are you doing?"

Chuck didn't answer, just took a sip of water and turned his head, staring at the framed photograph of his mother that sat on the table to that side. The sight of her wide brown eyes and soft, dark hair made him feel even sicker and more alone. He had to look away.

Serena sighed when Chuck didn't respond, setting a French-manicured hand on one of his broad, white-T-shirt-covered shoulders. "Look, I know I haven't exactly been the greatest stepsister in the world, but I'm really," her voice cracked, "_really _happy that you're okay."

Chuck shrugged her hand off, the gesture both strangely comforting and strangely uncomfortable. "I don't feel so good," he said, feigning that he was about to be sick and turning to the other side to get out of bed and away from Serena's attempts to have him talk about his feelings with her. He didn't do that with anyone. And if he ever did, he was sure that it would be Blair, the girl that he'd loved for as long as he could remember, rather than his sweet but somewhat pushy stepsister.

* * *

Watching Chuck turn away, Serena suddenly felt an enormous amount of pity for him. Here was a boy, not yet a man, who'd just lost his father and was now technically orphaned; not counting the hospitality of Lily Bass and the fact that Serena and Eric treated him as if he was a sibling. Here was a boy that had lived his whole life with a wall up, and now, when he desperately needed to knock that wall down to be able to move on, he wasn't able to let go of the way things used to be. Here was a boy that needed comfort, needed to find something to hold on to, and it seemed that no matter how far he reached, there was nothing left.

Serena reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him from stepping into the connecting bathroom, where he would probably stay until she would grow annoyed, bored, or otherwise preoccupied and leave. "Chuck, just wait a minute," she said, her mouth dry with a combination of fear and sadness as he turned his head.

When he looked at her, she felt sick inside. Every bit of pain that she was sure was throbbing inside of him was displayed on his face for one quick second: eyes narrowed and flashing, eyebrows furrowed, chest heaving in and out as he struggled to take deep enough breaths to accommodate the anguish inside of him. Then the torment faded and what replaced it was a look of pure grief. His hands shook, his shoulders shook, his eyes filled with unshed tears and his lips quivered as he struggled to hold himself together.

Serena reached for him again, this time pulling him to her and wrapping her arms around his shaking frame. He didn't move to hug her back, but she paid no mind. "I'm so sorry," she said softly, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry about everything."

Chuck nodded, a tiny nod, the expression on his face hard to read when Serena let go of him and looked him over. He rubbed at his eyes with curled fists, making them even more bloodshot and red-rimmed than before. The pity that she had felt before represented itself at a whole other level, and she embraced him again, letting her long arms rest around his frame in a way that felt more like family than anything that she'd ever experienced.

Chuck attempted breathing steadily for a moment, then let himself press his face into Serena's soft, jacket-clad shoulder. She continued to hold him, as he was unmoving and not protesting, and said quietly, "If you need to cry…" Serena paused, taking a deep breath. "I won't tell anyone, I swear." She got no response, and just sat there with him wrapped in her arms. But after a few minutes, there was a small sniffle. Serena turned her head to look at him, her perfectly made-up eyes wide with shock. Was Chuck Bass, _the _Chuck Bass, really crying? She hadn't expected him to actually heed her advice.

A few seconds later, there was a small gasp, almost like the beginning of a sob, and Chuck's shoulders shook violently. Serena pulled him closer, but Chuck shoved his hands into her cashmere-clad shoulders, pushing her away and causing her to fall back on the bed. His eyes were wild, darting all over the room, and still filled with tears, but none had tracked their way down his pale cheeks. He let out something that sounded like a strangled yell and stumbled for the bathroom, turning to look at the surprised Serena that was now lying propped up by her elbows on his bed, her eyes slightly afraid and her heart pounding in her chest.

"I'm sorry," he half-whispered, half-sobbed, banging his fist on the bathroom door before kicking it open and slamming it behind him.

_"And the tears come streaming down your face, when you lose something you can't replace; when you love someone but it goes to waste. Could it be worse?"_

Serena sat in a deathly still silence, shocked by what she had just seen and heard. Chuck was, apparently, just as vulnerable as the rest of the world, just not as good at showing it. The looks in his eyes had broken her heart over and over again, and it made her want to be that person that he trusted enough to open up to. But since she hadn't been the greatest stepsister over the time they'd been living under the same roof, Serena wasn't surprised that Chuck didn't have that kind of faith in her. In fact, she was sure that she knew who he _did _trust that way, but he'd never admit to it.

Blair. Blair was the only one that could get him to open up. She always had been. Back when they were younger, on days when Chuck and Blair had fought and she wasn't there to listen to him talk about how his father had come home late from work again after promising to have dinner with him or how Nate had been ditching him for the members of the lacrosse and soccer teams, he became moody, closed-off, or just plain sad. Even when the worries were trivial, Blair listened diligently and it paid off. After talking to Blair, Chuck was lighter and happier, a little more carefree. For so many years, she was the one that held him together.

He needed Blair right now. She was the only one that he would let his guard down with. But that wasn't her decision to make, as much as she wanted to. It was Chuck's, and she knew that when everything got to be too much, he'd end up going to her. He always ended up going to her.

Standing up, Serena began to make her way to the door, but something that she saw on top of Chuck's cluttered desk surprised her. It was a wide, cream-colored envelope, stamped with the Bass Industries logo and addressed in looping, old-fashioned calligraphy to "Charles Bartholomew Bass."

"Chuck, what is this?" she asked the empty air. Chuck made no response from inside the bathroom, and she doubted that he had even heard her. But just because of the look in his eyes when he'd slammed that door shut, she carefully slid it through the crack underneath and turned to leave.

_"Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones and I will try to fix you."_

* * *

Contrary to what Serena thought, Chuck had heard her. And as he sat on the glossy, modern, cream-tiled floor, back against the bathroom door and legs pulled to his chest, he saw the envelope slide through the small line of afternoon sunlight underneath the door.

Chuck's fingers shook as he picked it up. The truth was, he had almost forgotten about that envelope. Right after he'd gotten it, he'd seen Blair outside of the Bass Industries office, and his after-work fantasies as well as her huge brown eyes and gorgeous ruby red lips had made it hard to think about anything other than what was right in front of him and how much he wished that it was his. He'd simply set the letter down in his room when he got home to the van der Bass penthouse, not thinking about it again.

Until now. Carefully turning over the envelope in his hands, Chuck unstuck the flap and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was thick, but Chuck could still make out the words "Dear Charles" at the top through the layers of paper. His heart began to pound just as hard as his head already was, and his stomach lurched. There was no way that he could do this alone.

Stretching his legs out in front of him and standing up slowly, Chuck opened the bathroom door. Serena had disappeared from the room, leaving the door partially open behind her. Through the wide crack, Chuck could see the van der Woodsen living room and kitchen: a wide, contemporary space full of elegant white furniture and modern art. He leaned across the bedspread and grabbed his cell phone off of the bedside table that also housed a low, wide cream-colored lamp and his trademark silk patchwork scarf.

There was only one person that he wanted to read this letter with. She'd promised that she'd always be there for him, and no matter how stupid he'd acted, he needed her here right now. She was just about the only person in the world that made him feel safe.

Hitting a few icons on his touch-screen phone, Chuck called the number that had been on his mind for the past few days and forever. It rang once, twice, and then the clear, beautiful voice of his wildest, most caring and most romantic dreams answered quietly. "Hello?"

* * *

Blair was sitting on a long wood-and-concrete bench in Central Park when he called, staring out at the cold, frozen grounds and feeling sorry for herself. Trees without leaves stretched their dark shadows deep into the cloudy sky, and the cold, brittle grass was dry and brown. The streetlights lining the long, wide path were shining bright, but their illumination only cast a glow on the dreariness around her. It was one of those ugly winter days, and that was good, because Blair was feeling ugly as well.

Why hadn't Chuck wanted her in that hospital room with him? Why had he sent her away? She'd thought that it would always be the way it had been since they were kids: she being the only one that Chuck trusted enough to let in. But now, clearly, he didn't need her anymore. Well, fine. She didn't need him either.

That thinking had lasted all of two seconds, before Blair thought of the promise that she had made him: "I want you to know that I'm going to be here…anywhere…whenever you need me." She couldn't just let him down. This thought filled her brown eyes with tears that wet her eyelashes. Maybe he didn't want her near him anymore, but God, she wanted _him_ so much.

When Serena had called in the middle of the night, telling her that Chuck had overdosed on scotch and sleeping pills and was currently being rushed to the hospital, she wouldn't have been surprised if her heart had stopped. The second she'd gotten to the brand-new Upper East Side hospital's entirely white leather-and-chrome waiting room, she'd started bawling and hadn't stopped until Lily had come out to tell her that Chuck was awake. It was so unlike her to cry in public…she and Chuck were similar in that way. Always a façade, never fully letting themselves go. Everything had broken last night, and now she just felt cold and empty. She couldn't go on without him, but he didn't want her to be with him. There was nothing she could do but just…forget, let him go and let him suffer and learn to not care.

_Yes_, she decided, standing up slowly and brushing any dirt from the bench off of her black wool pea coat. The thin coating of wet snow on the ground stained the red soles of her Louboutin heels and her hands were numb because she'd run out of the house without her cashmere-lined leather gloves, but Blair still sauntered her way down the path towards the park exit. _I don't care, I don't care, I don't care_, she told herself over and over, stomping her feet with a little more force than necessary. Then her phone rang.

Sighing with annoyance, Blair reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She continued walking, exiting the park, and pressed TALK. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end made her stop dead in her tracks, perfect eyebrows furrowed and dark, glossy, headband-less curls flying as she whipped her head around, somehow not finding it appropriate to look towards the bustling Upper East Side streets ahead of her. It was Chuck Bass, her Chuck, sounding hoarse and sick but very much alive and saying _her _name. "Blair?"

Hearing his voice made her want to run all the way to the van der Bass penthouse on the top floor of the Palace and throw her arms around him. He sounded so small and weak, but at the same time very old, weary and sad. She couldn't contain her relief at hearing from him, and so she blurted, betraying her promised indifference, "Chuck! Is everything okay? Are you okay? How are you feeling? What happened?"

Chuck let out a long sigh and didn't respond for so long that Blair was about to pull the phone away from her ear and check the signal. But then he spoke quietly. "Can you come over here?"

Blair's mascaraed eyes widened in surprise, and she tugged the wool of her coat closer to her shivering body, contemplating her decision. If she went, she would be betraying the promise that she'd made to herself just a few moments ago. If she didn't go, she would be betraying Chuck. The choice wasn't hard.

"I'll be there in five minutes," Blair said, picking up a pace almost like a speed-walk (as fast as she could move in her three-inch heels), exiting the park and waving her cold, bare hands for a cab. "But, Chuck…why?"

Chuck swallowed and she could hear him breathing softly on the other end of the line. "I'll explain when you get here," he said, his normally rough voice sounding a little bit less harsh today.

"Okay…" Confused, Blair listened to Chuck hang up as a cab screeched to the curb. She grabbed the slush-stained yellow door handle and yanked it open, sliding into the ripped vinyl backseat and practically shouting to the driver to go to the Palace Hotel.

As the cab pulled away from the sidewalk and turned the corner into a heavy stream of New York City rush-hour traffic, Blair tapped her stiletto-clad foot on the floor and her dark red-manicured fingers against the window. She wanted him in her arms, and she couldn't get there fast enough.

_"And high up above or down below, when you're too in love to let it go. But if you never try, you'll never know just what you're worth."_

* * *

When Blair stepped out of the elevator, the penthouse seemed strangely quiet and still. There were absolutely no signs of life: none of the Palace Hotel's maids bustling around the room and dusting everything, no leftover food from breakfast or lunch sitting on the kitchen counters, no soft thuds of high heels on the carpet as Serena or Lily rushed to meetings, appointments, or early dinner dates.

"Chuck?" Blair called out cautiously, unbuttoning her coat with cold fingers and slipping it from her shoulders, revealing the typically preppy outfit of a simple white-and-black striped dress and black tights that she was wearing underneath. When there was no response, she tossed the coat onto the bench against the wall across from the elevator and crossed the wide living room, ignoring the valuable paintings on the walls and the gorgeous view of late-afternoon Manhattan through the large windows in favor of a purposeful stride toward Chuck's room.

When she pushed open the door, she was surprised to find him extremely dressed down in a pair of plaid pajamas. She'd never seen him wear pajamas. He was always in a suit and bowtie or, at the very least, dark jeans and a nice cashmere sweater. But his clothing wasn't the only thing unusual. He was sitting on the edge of his unmade bed with a piece of paper in his hands, his face completely drained of color and a strange tint to his dusky brown eyes. It almost was a look of…surrender.

"Chuck?" Blair asked again, moving to his side on light feet, despite the weight of her Christian Louboutin peep-toes. She placed a small, gentle hand on one of his broad shoulders, and was surprised when he didn't shrug it off. The temperature that radiated from his body was both hot and cold, and she felt his body trembling under her cautious fingertips. "Why did you ask me here?"

Chuck said something so softly that she couldn't hear him, and she sat down next to him on the soft cotton bedspread to get closer, not removing her hand from its position on his shoulder. "What?" she asked carefully, trying not to push him but curious to know the answer nonetheless.

"My father," Chuck rasped, and Blair could feel him breath slowly in and out. "He left me…" he swallowed roughly, "…this letter. He, uh…" Chuck seemed to be struggling to get the words out, which was unusual for him. He usually had a smarmy, witty remark on the tip of his tongue, and was never without an opinion. "It was with his lawyers. It was supposed to be given to me if I was handed the company after he died, but that…" He stopped speaking and moved a hand over his eyes, which seemed to be quickly filling with tears. "That's not happening anymore."

Blair rubbed his shoulder tenderly and gazed at him with inquisitive eyes. "What do you mean? I thought…I mean, isn't the company yours? Serena told me…"

"Serena heard wrong," Chuck snapped harshly, interrupting her. Blair quickly removed her hand from his shoulder, as if she was afraid that he might bite her. Chuck had a ferocious glint in his irises for a moment, and then it faded and he just looked broken again. "I'm sorry," he said a second later, reaching up a hand to rub his tired, red-rimmed eyes.

Blair shook her head, returning her hand cautiously to his shoulder and feeling his body relax slightly as she rubbed her thumb in small circles. "Don't be. I just…" her voice softened slightly as she looked into his helpless eyes. "I just want to know what's going on. I want to be there for you, just like I…" she felt Chuck's whole body shudder at those words and she moved her arm around both shoulders, pulling him closer to her. "Just like I promised," she whispered, her soft red lips inches from his ear.

Chuck nodded slowly, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he found the words to say what he wanted to. "Jack took the company." He took a long, deep breath, but his shoulders began to shake before he finished. He was trembling all over, and the letter he was holding between his fingers fell on the purple-carpeted floor.

"_What_?" Blair was shocked. She had no doubt that Jack was a powerful man, everyone with the Bass name was, but it was Bart's own company. Jack Bass didn't strike her as smart enough, crafty enough or _mean _enough to devise a scheme that included stealing a father's most prized possession from his recently orphaned son. "How…"

"A morality clause." Chuck tilted his head up to the brown-painted ceiling as if trying to force the water back into his eyes. "He caught me doing…things I never should have done. I regret it…" he swallowed again, blinking furiously. "…so much." He began to shake again, and his body felt cold even through the soft, worn flannel of his pajamas.

"Shhh…" Blair pulled him closer to her and he moved voluntarily, letting himself into her warm half-embrace. "You feel freezing. Are you okay?"

Chuck shook his head, but made no move to reach for one of the cashmere blankets that were folded on the end of his bed. Instead, he picked up the letter from the floor, holding it between his fingers like he couldn't bear to touch it any more. "That's why I asked you here," he said in a near-whisper. "I can't…" he sighed, and Blair saw the last bit of the old Chuck disappearing for tonight as he prepared to show every bit of vulnerability that was running through him. "I can't do this alone," he finished softly.

_"Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones and I will try to fix you."_

Blair nodded, feeling so much pity weighing down her heart that she couldn't help what she did next. Moving closer to him, she leaned towards him and, in a bold gesture, carefully planted her lips on one of his pale cheeks in a soft kiss. "I'm here," she whispered.

Instead of being angry, he looked at her with obviously pained eyes but the smallest touch of a grateful half-smile on his lips. "Thank you," he said, a hoarse undertone to his words. He handed her the paper. "Please?"

Blair could tell he was trying to speak in as few words as possible, because every time he opened his mouth, his voice cracked and she could see tears come to his golden brown eyes. She knew Chuck's reserves about crying. To him, it was the ultimate sign of weakness, the end of the road, the most desperate measure to be taken only when there was nothing and no one to comfort him. She hadn't seen him shed a single tear since they were children. Nothing was bad enough, nothing painful enough to invoke the drops of water. Nothing but this.

Blair took the letter from between his fingers and unfolded it with one hand, resting it on her black-tights-clad knee in order to be able to keep her other arm around Chuck's slumped shoulders. "'Dear Charles,'" she read, and another tremor seemed to go through Chuck's body. He clenched his jaw in the way he always did when he was upset or nervous and then leaned forward even further, resting his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together tightly and pressing them against his pale, icy forehead, hiding his face from Blair's caring eyes.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked him, resting her free hand on top of his as he brought them down to rest on his plaid-flannel-clad knees. "I can leave you alone, and just come back later…after…" Blair stood up, teetering on her stilettos and began to move towards the door, but she didn't even get in two steps before Chuck's dark head shot up and his hand reached out in a sudden, vulnerable gesture to grasp hers.

"_No_! Blair, _please_." His grip on her hand was strong and the look in his eyes was so…young and desperate and completely unlike the Chuck Bass that she knew that she didn't want to move another step. Keeping his fingers entwined with hers, she sank back onto the bed and picked up the letter, folding it open with nervous fingers as she began to read. "'I know I've always been hard on you, but my goal was to prepare you for this day.'"

Chuck gave up his position of staring at a blank spot on the carpeted floor and digging his fingernails into Blair's palm as his clammy hand clung to hers. Instead, he turned his head and buried his face in Blair's shoulder. She could feel his slow, shaky breaths on her neck and she held him close and she continued to read, a sad tremor in her voice as well.

_I know that in the earlier years of your life, we didn't have the greatest relationship. I'm aware that you felt as if you could not come to me with your concerns, and this contributing to building a relationship that was unstable and not what I had ever pictured sharing with my son. But you have to understand that it was hard for me. Your mother's death left me uncertain about how to raise you well, and I was left both mourning her and trying to provide you with everything a child could possibly want. But I forgot what you _really_ needed, and that was a father. It hurt me to see you grow up the way you did, and I'm sure it hurt you even more. You just have to understand that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for every moment we didn't spend together and every moment that we did when I was too wrapped up in myself to think of you. _

_But over this past year or so, I've seen you grow into someone better. Better than me, better than you should have been after the way I raised you. You came into our new family with grace _(it was obvious that this letter had been written more recently at suggestion from both his family lawyer and other legal assistants, along with several of Bart's other documents, probably after Dan Humphrey's story had been published and he was put more into the spotlight and, therefore, more at risk)_, you handled the Victrola project very well and you've helped out your new stepsiblings and good friends on various occasions. You're growing into a great young man, Charles, and I hope my passing, whenever it may be, will not steer you off that path. _

_There is nothing like the death of a father to aid in an important rite of passage for his son, and that is why I've given you the majority share of Bass Industries. You may not know it now, but you have all the makings of a very good businessman and I hope that is the path you'll choose to take, because I have much faith that you will be very successful at running Bass Industries. I know I haven't always acted like it, but I believe in you and I hope you believe in yourself as well._

_Love, Dad_

Blair looked up from the piece of paper, barely stopping the tears that threatened to drip from her eyes. She had to be strong for him.

That _him _was now clinging urgently to Blair's silk dress, the curves of his fingers causing wrinkles in the exquisite fabric. She felt nothing wet on her shoulder, no tears, and he made no sound, but his shoulders were shaking even more violently than before and he refused to lift his head.

"Chuck." Blair's soft voice hovered somewhere between a question and a command, questioning his wellbeing and commanding to look up at her, look into her pained dark brown eyes and let her tell him that everything was going to be okay. But she wished she hadn't spoken, because the second he looked in her eyes, her heart tore into two.

The tears she'd seen him fighting back before now glimmered fully in his eyes and his perfect lips turned down at the corners, working his face into the most painful expression she'd ever seen. It was as if it conveyed every bad feeling in the world: grief, sickness, terror, anger…complete and total vulnerability. His lips trembled as he fought the tears, and she couldn't look his miserable face for another second without hugging him, so she wrapped her arms fully around him and pulled him close to her. He burrowed his face in her neck and breathed in long, loud, shaky breaths, until, all of a sudden, he stopped.

"Chuck?" Blair's heart sped up as she no longer felt his chest rising and falling against hers. She quickly pulled out of the hug, grasping his limp shoulders and staring straight into his eyes. He was fine…except for the one tear making its way slowly down his face, staining his soft cheek with a thin line of water. And then came another and another and another, until those lines streaked from his eyes in a steady stream, washing away every preconceived notion she ever had about Chuck Bass and his inability to show emotion.

_"Tears stream down your face, when you lose something you cannot replace. Tears stream down your face, and I..."_

Watching Chuck cry was both terrifying and beautiful at the same time. He shut his eyes as each tear came down and slid from beneath each closed eyelid, and his breaths were short, like he was afraid of not being able to get enough. His lamentation meant that _nothing _in the world was the same. The general order of things had changed. There were a few truths in the world: It never snowed in July, you never saw porcupines in balloons and Chuck Bass _never cried_.

But because he was and because his tears were making her tremble with her own pent-up grief…not for Bart, but for him and the life he had lost, spending his time drinking and sleeping around rather than having a normal childhood with a mother and a father and a nice townhouse and a family meal every night. It wasn't his fault, of course. He'd simply lost his innocence too soon. In other situations, it may have been mildly annoying, maybe even funny. But not in this one. No, here it was tragic, and she was holding a tragically broken boy that had had a tragically broken life. All of her problems seemed tiny in comparison.

They were quiet tears, no noise emitting from Chuck's tightly closed mouth, but his chest was heaving against her body and tremors shook his body as the tears flowed faster and harder, staining Blair's soft dress with a coating of saltwater.

Suddenly, Chuck unfolded himself from her embrace and moved out of her arms to stare her in the eyes. Blair's unshed tears began to roll their way down her porcelain cheeks as he stared at her with those wild dark golden brown eyes, ones that were now clouded over with mystery and sadness and grief and terror. He looked like his heart was being torn apart piece by piece, and he could do nothing to stop it.

Their eyes locked, Chuck and Blair exchanged a look. It wasn't a look of repressed sexual tension, as many of their looks had been, and it wasn't one of challenge or victory or understanding. It was a look of total, complete, pure trust, and with that look, Blair knew that everything had changed. They were no longer the same people as before, and they never would be again.

Letting out a small whimper, Chuck's wet eyes squeezed together tightly and he trained his gaze on the floor. He sniffled, and then let out another whimper. Then, looking up, his gaze asked an unspoken question. She moved her head up and down in a nod, her tears coming faster now, lending his unspoken question an unspoken answer. And with that, Chuck buried his face in her shoulder and began to sob.

_"Tears stream down your face, when you lose something you cannot replace. Tears stream down your face, and I..."_

They weren't quiet, inhibited sobs, either. They were loud and angry and heartbreaking. They were for everything he'd lost, and everything he'd never had to begin with. They tore at her soul, and there was nothing she could do but pull him as close as she could and whisper, "I'm here."

***

Finally, after hours of tears, Chuck's crying began to cease, and he lifted his head from her shoulder. His eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed and dry, and they were drooping with exhaustion. He looked like he hadn't slept properly in days, and his arms and legs were so weak from sobbing that he could barely move. Blair slowly helped him to lie back down on his bed, where he leaned his head down on his pillow and stared at her with a grateful look in his eyes.

"Do you want some water?" she asked softly, reaching up a hand to push his messy, sweaty bangs off of his forehead. With anyone else, she would have felt like she was playing servant, but with them, for her and him and both of them, it wasn't like that at all. Everything was a romantic gesture, something important and beautiful and unforgettable.

Chuck nodded, a small nod that a person without an eye for detail might have missed. He pressed his face into his pillow as Blair set a warm, gentle hand on his shoulder, and then stood up and made her way towards the door.

"Blair," a voice behind her rasped out. She turned to look, and Chuck's eyes were looking straight into hers, as if they were seeing all the way through her. "Thank you."

The way he said those simple two words made them far more amazing than any elaborate speech he ever could have given her. They meant the entire world to both of them, after everything they'd been through, today and every day before that.

"You're welcome," she said, giving him a careful smile. It seemed unnecessary to say anything more. The level of intimacy they found themselves at now was beyond all words and gestures. It was as if their eyes and their hearts were speaking for them now, and their mouths no longer needed to.

After getting a cold glass of water from the van der Bass's darkened kitchen, Blair walked down the hall toward Chuck's room. She had long abandoned her Louboutins at the foot of his bed, and now her stocking feet felt soft against the carpet.

Slowly pushing open the door, she moved toward Chuck's side to hand him the glass. But before she could offer it, she noticed that his eyes were closed and he had drifted into a quiet, peaceful sleep.

Her eyes searched his face, taking in every bit of it, from the wild locks of hair that curled around his temples to the long, soft eyelashes of his closed dark eyes. His pale cheeks had a bit of color in them for the first time in days and his perfect lips were curled into a small smile, as if wordlessly telling her how much he appreciated her staying with him.

Her heart full of compassion, Blair set the glass down on his bedside table and turned off the lights. As quietly as she could, so as not to wake him, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers over both of them, wrapping her arms around him yet again as he unconsciously moved into her embrace. And there they lay, her eyes carefully watching over him until the sun rose in the sky. For many people, daylight meant reality, the end of whatever had happened the night before. But for Blair and Chuck, daylight signified something new that was just beginning.

When the devil couldn't save himself, she had saved him. And for both of them, the experience had changed everything for the better.

_"Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones and I will try to fix you." _

* * *

**A/N: **And...the end! Thank you SO MUCH, everyone, for reading. Please, please, please REVIEW! I'd love to know what you think. Thank you so much for supporting me through this story. It's been amazing to write and your reviews definitely kept me going. This story will have an epilogue, hopefully (if I can) it will be formatted somewhat like the prologue and it will show you a little bit more about where Chuck and Blair's lives went after this. **Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time: bookworm455, fizliz23, MrsCullen-Bass, princetongirl, Morbidmuch, samhaincat, bluestriker666, MrsChairNaley, 3WoRdS8LeTTeRsxoxo, leabass **and **xDollfacex**. I love you all. Thank you again and please review! :D


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